An Ugly Mess

Graduation went well and I hope to blog a little more about it later when I get some pictures. My camera conveniently stopped working as soon as I got there (batteries I think) so I had a friend take pictures with his camera and I haven't gotten them from him yet. FYI, I didn't do announcements for graduation so I hope nobody feels bad for not getting one. But it's so strange to be a college graduate. I like to start most of my sentences now with "Now that I have my degree . . ." I'm sure that will get old before too long. Speaking of getting old, I am. Yesterday my boss asked me if he could set me up with his daughter's 3rd grade teacher. The following is our conversation as well as I remember it:

Me: Oh, ha ha ha.
Boss: I'm serious
Me: Um. . . isn't she really old?
Boss: Actually she's about a year younger than you.
Me: What!!! I'm not old enough to be a school teacher!!! School teachers have grandchildren and record Matlock to watch after school.
Boss: Yeah . . . so what do you think?
Me: Well, apparently I'm not getting any younger. If you've got any contacts at the local community center or through the town Scrabble club, send them my way as well.

I guess I'm now to the age where people want to set me up with their children's 3rd grade teachers. Before you know it I'll start spending my evenings sitting on the front porch, yelling at children for stepping on my lawn until I turn it at 8:30.

But the real reason I'm writing today has to do with how I've spent my last couple of evenings. As you know, last weekend I moved in with my parents in South Jordan (the shining moment of my life) and with the move came quite the task. My old room at their house hasn't had anyone living in it since I was there six years ago and in addition to all my childhood treasures, it has become somewhat of a storage place for various things that have collected over the years. So we thought it was probably a good time to go in and do a massive de-junking especially now that I'm probably at a point where I can finally let go of some of the pointless junk-crafts from the various scout camps and the pile of meaningless two line notes dropped in my locker in the 7th grade. Krishelle was kind enough to come and help me both nights (after I whined and whined and whined about it).

What we found, and the sheer quantity of what we found, absolutely floored both of us. Pictures, mounds of "Boxcar Children" and "Hardy Boys" books, games from the 80's, souvenirs from various national parks located throughout Utah, family reunion memorabilia in massive quantities from some company that whichever great uncle who hosted the reunion worked for that year, certificates, participation trophies from sports that I'm pretty sure were made up as a ploy to give parents a break from their children back in '89, two of every church book ever written in the 60's and 70's, and clothes that aren't only out of style now but that should not have been worn by anyone ever. You get the idea.

Now, my parents house is not cluttered and I don't want anyone to get that idea. They are actually very organized people (amazing that I came from them); the condition of this old room is probably mostly my fault.

OK, the whole point I'm trying to get to is this: we came across a pile of old pictures (dance pictures from high school mostly) and I was one ugly teenager! I could not believe it. I don't remember looking like that! I know some of you right now are saying "oh, well we were all ugly when we were 14" but this goes beyond the awkward ugliness that comes with adolescence. And I was not making it any better for myself. My hair was perfectly parted down the middle and crusted solidly and tightly down to my head. And throw a bowl cut* into the picture which I really did have until I was about 15 and you've got yourself quite the hairdo. The braces didn't help nor did the fact that I weighed 125 pounds until I was about 16 and then not much more after that. Based on the evolution of the ugliness, it seems that I started to come out of it a little bit just into my senior year of high school and by graduation I had made great strides. But there was no taking back what I had been over the years.

After looking through the pictures and laughing hysterically with Krishelle, asking why on earth someone didn't say something to me and wondering how I ever had any friends at all, I quite seriously asked if she thought I could ever fully overcome something like that. Krishelle said that if you are ugly in high school, you become really attractive later on and vice-versa; that's the way it works in movies anyway. So now I'm hoping that sometime over the next couple of years I'll make the transition from "just overcame extreme ugly" (which is the phase I think I'm in now) to "charming and attractive."

I would drone on about how my ugliness from my teen years has made me very insecure today but the problem is that I'm pretty sure I didn't know I had a problem at the time. I think I thought I was pretty good looking, which is probably why I wasn't doing anything to fix it. Makes me wonder which perceptions of myself today are also tragically off. Maybe I should rethink my whole life.

Anyway, now that I have my degree, I better cut this off. Love you guys.

*Bowl cuts are ugly. And mine was somehow worse than others. It was like a really low bull cut down to the ears.

Borsch!!!

So guess what today is? Yup, college graduation.

Last night I went to a Ben Folds concert and then grabbed a chimichanga at Beto's with some friends after midnight (biggest mistake of the week). Is it just me or does anyone else feel like they're entering a third world country when they go into Beto's? Every time I go I feel like I might need my passport to get back out. Two summers ago my friend and I had a two week training for work in Salt Lake and we ate at the Beto's just across the street every day. We always loved it, and then regretted it later that night, ifyouknowwhatImean. Anyway, so after I woke up this morning and spent the next 30 minutes or so sorting through the Big Beto's Blunder of 2008 from just 8 hours before (nuff said about that!), I panicked and decided to make Borsch, wondering once again why I don't make it more often. I will get a bit braggy here; I make the world's best borsch, and I've decided to share my secrets today in this blog. BTW, today's borsch was my all time best!


















This makes way way way too much. But I'm always glad I did.

First get:
-About 5 red potatoes
-Two cans of pinto beans
-3-4 Medium-sized beets
-About 4 medium-sized carrots
-One large red onion
-Pork, chicken, or beef
-3-4 cartons of chicken stock (even if you're not cooking with chicken--just trust me)
-1/2 a head of green or purple cabbage
-1 can of tomato paste

The first thing you want to do is get the meat cooking. Put a little oil and stock in your pot, just enough to almost cover the meat, and let it start cooking on a low heat. I usually put in a couple of garlic cloves and some salt at this point, too. Then peel the potatoes (unless they are red skin) and chop them into small squares. Once the meat is mostly cooked, fill the pot about half-way with the stock and get it boiling. Throw the potatos in (I usually have to do two pots unless I have a really really big one). You want to get the potatoes boiling first because they need to be really soft by the end.

Then peel the carrots and beets and grate them separately with a cheese grater (I usually remember why I don't make this very often when I grate the beets because it is a pain!!!). Then chop up the onion and carmelize it. Once the onion is carmelized, add the carrot shreds to the onion and a little stock for moisture. Stir and let cook for about 5-10 minutes. The carrot shreds should become very limp.

At this point you'll want to chop up about 1/3 to 1/2 a head of cabbage in small skinny strips and throw that in with the potatoes which should be soft enough that they almost fall right off a fork. You can throw the beans in at this point, too.

Now the trick: then throw the beet shreds into a frying pan with a little oil and the tomato paste (sometimes I do this with out the tomato paste). After the beets cook for about 8 minutes, mix it with the carrots. It should be a deep red in the frying pan (and it smells SO good). Let them cook together for about another 5 minutes. I will often throw a couple of garlic cloves into this part as well. I know that sounds weird but I swear it makes a difference and I've been told by a culinary arts major who shall remain nameless that it makes sense. And Kalli knows what she's talking about; she's an amazing cook. Oops.

Now the magical part: Pour the carrots, onion and beet into the pot and stir it around and watch your borsch turn a beautiful deep deep red. If your borsch is more orange, you did not put enough beets in it. Let it simmer for at least 10 minutes while you add garlic, salt, and any other herbs and spices you like.

Borsch is served best with sour cream and bread and butter.

Now, some of you threw up in your mouths every time I typed the word "beets" but I'm here today to tell you that you need to give this a try. I have always HATED beets but it is totally different in borsch. Borsch is the most fabulous thing that has ever crossed my tongue, including cheesecake (don't tell cheesecake that I said that). I could eat it every day and I've yet to make it for someone who has not absolutely loved it. (If anyone has had it, you can please back me up in the comments of this post).

If anyone needs help or has any questions, please don't hesitate to ask.

~It Just Gets Stranger

The Little House on University Avenue

Today is going to be an interesting day. Just another step in all the dramatic changes that will be taking place for me over the next few weeks. It will probably be my last day in the ward I have been attending for the last 2 and a half years and because of that, I'll be getting released from my calling today. This is a calling that I've been serving in for the last year and I have to say that it feels really strange to get released now. I admit that I've always sort of thought that it would be a major relief when the day came, and it most definitely will bring some relief, but the strangeness of the whole situation is actually overpowering that for me right now. A large part of me will really miss the opportunities I've had to serve and the learning experiences that I've had serving in this ward. A large part of me won't miss the meetings and some of the challenges that left me feeling pretty inadequate at times. But overall my experience in this ward has been really great; I've grown a lot here and learned a lot here. When my friends and I moved into this house on University Avenue in December of 2005, I was 21 years old, pretty fresh off my mission with very little school done at all. We didn't plan on staying in the house for much longer than a semester just for the sake of moving but semester after semester we just couldn't get ourselves to leave. We fell in love with the house, the ward and the friendships we've made. Now looking back at these last couple of years seems so surreal to me. I just can't believe that that much time has gone by. Many friends have come and gone, as is the nature of being college students. Many classes have come and gone. My closest group of friends are all currently going their separate ways to graduate schools, work, internships and so on and life will really never be the same for any of us. But for all of us, we'll look back fondly on our undergrad years at the little house on University Avenue and all the funny experiences we had there (some that didn't really seem so funny at the time).

Change is really good. Sometimes I have a really hard time remembering that but it really is good. And it will be nice in some ways to move on. Moving in with my parents for the next month or two will probably mean the first good night's sleep in several years (I will die young). Also, I'm sure that wherever I end up and whatever I end up doing, I will make good memories out of it and will enjoy it as well.

Well I think I'll cut it off there.

An Anticlimatic Conclusion

Yesterday at approximately 3:07 I did something that I thought would never happen: I walked out of my last undergraduate class . . . ever. Whoo HOO!!!! I must say, however, that it was quite anticlimactic. I suppose I've always pictured walking out of my last class to be something a bit more dramatic--lights flashing, confetti falling from the tops of buildings, hats thrown into the sky in triumph and one of those 1970s Mary Tyler Moore freeze frames while I'm jumping in the air as "You're Gonna Make It After All!!" loudly plays through all the speakers across campus as a salute of majestic glory. But none of that happened. None of it at all actually. My last class was Financial Management which I could have assumed would probably not be a class to put the inspirational icing on my undergraduate cake. In fact, after the first day or two I probably could have pegged the class as what it would become over the next few months: one of the most miserably boring experiences of my life.

I think a lesson on attitude would have been a great thing for me to garner from said course but ironically, I think my attitude was too bad to gain too many lessons from the whole thing. My attitude was especially bad at the beginning which landed me a solid C- on the first test, and although C's do in fact get degrees, I'd rather not. So I made the effort to get more out of the class which paid off with an A on the second test. I can't say I ever fell in love with financial management but I did eventually come to terms with the situation, realizing that whether I liked it or not, I was going to get through it. I also came to terms with my professor who is one hundred and thirteen years old and is in the exact image and likeness of John McCain. Originally I was not impressed with his long drawn out stories of failed businesses he was involved in back in the 1850s or his experience with the Red Sox in 1948 (ok, the 1850s is an exaggeration but 1948 is the actual date he gave us in class yesterday, followed by this statement: "that was a good year. The last 60 years have not been good to us however" as if the last 60 years was not a very large amount of time). So although Professor John McCain probably could have retired back in the 70s and could be staying home to watch Matlock every day and eat prunes, he still teaches students with bad attitudes every day- and I respect him for that. In fact, I've really grown to like him despite the boring lectures, which I've decided have more to do with the subject matter than him.

So there I sat yesterday, waiting for the climax to all the blood, sweat, tears and bloody sweaty tears I've donated to the cause over the years. Forgetting that this was my last class ever, I almost got up and left about 25 minutes early but I stayed, not wanting to miss the hugs, cheers and brief moments of solemn yet dramatic reflection as class let out that day. The leaving early would not have been abnormal for me as I have not made it on time to this class in about 3 months because I somehow decided that the first 20 minutes or so would be part of my social hour out in the hall of the Tanner building with all my long lost friends, and leaving 20 or so minutes early was always justified for some reason or another. No, yesterday I was only 8 minutes late and I stayed until the bitter end.

There were no flashing lights. No music was played. No tears were shed. And there were no silent moments of dramatic reflection. John McCain talked about index funds until about 3:07 and then, throwing us off because class is scheduled until 3:20, he said in his gruff voice as casually as if he was making some comment on the weather for conversation's sake "well I don't really have anything else to say so you can leave." And by the time he got to the "L" sound on the word leave, the majority of the few people that showed up for class yesterday were already stepping over each other, shoving small children into traffic, and knocking the door down to get the heck out of there as some students rushed to the front to complain about their grades no doubt. I gathered my things, was carried by the quick-moving crowd and the next thing I knew, I was outside getting construction dust blown on my sun burnt face from the addition they are putting on the front of the Tanner building. And just like that, BYU fulfilled it's destiny. For years it has chewed me up, and now finally, spit me out.

But nothing can take away my joy. Not even John McCain.

Cluttered Life

Please tell me this picture makes you smile.

A lot has happened in the last week and I thought I would update everyone as orderly as possible. No, that's too much to ask.

This weekend was General Conference which is a world-wide meeting my church has every six months where all the church leaders speak to the members about how to live better lives, have faith, overcome obstacles . . . It was great as always but I have to agree with 4-year-old Kaylee who told us as if she was breaking some really bad news, "it was a long hard thing to watch." Although I'm sure she didn't see more than about 4 minutes of the five session ten hour conference, everyone can understand the restless feeling you can get in meetings no matter how uplifting they are. But conference really was fantastic and once again I learned so much. I look forward to reading and listening to the talks again over the next six months.

Now I'm keeping myself pretty busy trying to prepare for graduation and moving out. In order to make the move a bit smoother I spent a couple of hours the other night dejunking and cleaning my room after swearing a mighty oath to myself that I would ruthlessly chuck anything that I did not want to use or wear at that exact moment. Two hours later I had gotten rid of one pair of shorts, about three old t-shirts and a small stack of papers that no one could possibly need ever. Not the most successful. If I can talk Micalyne into it, I'll have her come help me. She has made me throw away a lot of things in the past that I have really dragged my feet with; and shockingly, she has never gotten me to throw anything away that I've later regretted. I'm sure that would be the case with the 30 or so over sized t-shirts that I have in my drawers that I've received from various road races over the years or the DI Barbie puzzle Jason gave me for Christmas a few months ago (I finally did put it together and no, it wasn't missing any pieces). But I just seem to have a hard time parting with things. I got pretty good for a while when my family became obsessed with cutting clutter out of our lives about 8 months ago because my mom showed us part of this special on TV about this lady that was an extreme hoarder and had cluttered her house with enough junk to fill several warehouses (if I remember right, it took a crew of 100 people 2 months to clean it all out). But as with most things, my obsession with dejunking started to wear off after a while. The same thing happened after I saw "Supersize Me" and I didn't eat for about 7 months.

Sometimes I feel like I just need to start a new paragraph if I want to have any hope of ending the rambling. So I am moving in with my parents at the end of this month. It's something that I usually mumble under my breath quickly and then move on to the next topic because everyone knows that moving back in with your parents is generally not a sign that things are going well. But things really are going well and I'm looking forward to getting a little break from Provo for a while to spend more time with my family. I will probably move back to Provo sometime in June, depending on how long it takes me to get sick enough of commuting to Lindon for work every day.

OK so I rambled and didn't really update you on much of anything but I hope it was enjoyable nonetheless.

Heavy Labor with Grandma

I called Great Grandma Whittle a little over a week ago to see if Micalyne and I could come by so Micalyne could interview her for a paper she needed to write but grandma told me that she had fallen onto a chair the day before and cracked a rib so we decided to postpone the appointment. Grandma told me over the phone that she just wanted to stay low key that day so she would hopefully be feeling better the next morning to get out and watch the kids do the Easter egg hunt.

I called grandma again today to see how she was feeling and asked if I could stop by to see her. She sounded thrilled and then asked as though this was a business deal, "do you want to some work?" I told her I would love to but I had a meeting so would only have about 45 minutes but would get done what I could.

When I got to grandma's, she walked me out to her backyard and showed me a patch of dirt that was filled with weeds and she asked me to clean it out so that another time we could dig out her five rose bushes and move them over to this spot. I thought grandma would just go inside and rest while I worked on this but she was back out there with me about two minutes after I got started with a coat, gloves and a light peach handkerchief over her head like she was ready for some heavy labor. I asked her several times if she just wanted to go inside to stay warm but she kept saying that the fresh air was good for her as she bent over to pick up twigs that were littering her driveway. I thought about stopping her and found myself wanting to get in her way and pick up anything she was bending down to get but then I realized that this woman has lived more than four times longer than I have and is perfectly aware of what she is capable of so I should stop treating her like she's a child.

We worked for a little while--the entire time I was a nervous wreck because as much as a perfectionist as I am, I know that I get it from my mom's side as it's diminished slightly with each generation; my great grandma, therefore, has three generations more intensely perfectionist characteristics than I do and I was terrified to have her evaluate my work. At one point I asked her if my work was up to her standards; she just laughed. She never did answer me though.

Finally grandma agreed that the work was good enough for the day and I went in to wash my hands quickly. When I came back out, grandma was hunched over sweeping a pile of twigs into an old dust pan. I tried to take it from her but she just laughed and said "for heaven sakes, you're going to be late for your meeting if you don't go now! I can take care of this." I watched her for a little bit before I finally left at her several demands. Her old wrinkly hands scooped the brush into the dust pan and it seemed so interesting to me that those hands have done so much for so long. For a century they've cared for people, they've worked, they've served and now, in 2008, they were scooping up brush into an old dust pan. I don't know why that seemed so strange to me or why it was that watching grandma do this when she knows very well that there are hundreds of people that would be happy to do this for her made me respect her so much more when I thought I really couldn't respect her any more than I already did. But she finally looked up at me, handkerchief still around her hair, and smiled at me really wide, told me she loved me and then sent me on my way.

A Letter

First of all, I want to update everyone on canker situation; as of tomorrow morning, I believe that my final canker will be entirely healed. So many of you came through for me during this very difficult time and I want you to know that I tried every one's advice (literally at the same time) and I credit the healing process to each of you. This was a group effort and I think we are all a lot stronger now because of it.

I was recently going through some old things and I came across a stack of letters I wrote to my mission president each week in Ukraine. We were strongly encouraged to write a letter once a week to our mission president and at the end of our missions, he gave us back all the letters we wrote--I guess for me it was so I could re-live how dramatic I could be at times. But it was fun to read through some of them again and bring back some of the interesting memories.

I came across one that I wrote on November 7th 2004. This was a particularly trying time for me. I was in a newer area full of challenges that seemed insurmountable to me at the time. On top of that, I had been assaulted in the street about a week previous to writing this letter and had become quite discouraged because of that. But despite the difficulties and the heaviness I was feeling, it was still a time of miracles, some of which I written about in this blog before.

This letter is interesting to read in light of some of the very different yet real challenges I face now, almost four years later. The story I wrote about is one I've thought about often since 2004 and each time I do, I take something new with me. The letter reads:

"I once ran a race in college where at some points the water went up to our knees and at all times the mud was at least deep enough to cover our feet. It was pouring rain and everyone was covered with mud. I had developed a stress-fracture on my left leg in the months leading to this race and was forced to take some time off but against the doctor's orders, I ran the race--you see--it was the most important race of the year and if I didn't run, it could have hurt my team's outcome. We ended up losing by only a few points. Sometimes life feels like that race--I mean--often we trudge through the more difficult times just sloshing through ice-cold water up to our knees only to get to the "better" times where the mud is still deep enough to cover our feet. And we rarely find ourselves running downhill on short-cut grass on a beautiful cool day. Trying to understand these things can be frustrating but then I remind myself that the training schedule of an Olympic athlete doesn't usually consist of taking a bubble-bath. They run up mountains. They swim across lakes. They do those things because they make them grow. They could sit around all day--it would sure be easier. But they can't afford to do anything other than that which would make them a good athlete and I think that's how Heavenly Father works with us. He could detour the route onto a beautiful golf course but he knows that we can't afford to do anything less than that which will really make us grow-- so he sends us uphill into a swamp. I'm grateful for a God who does things like that."

Letter of Intent

Just when you thought I couldn't possibly get any more ambitious (ha ha), I got up at 6:00AM today and did a killer abs workout with Jason for about an hour. I'm sort of dying right now but it's all for a good cause.

After the workout we came home and I had one of those life changing, I'll-never-forget-the-day, bench-mark moments: I signed a letter of intent and mailed it off, letting BYU Law know that I have decided to continue my schooling there in the fall. This was not an easy decision for me. I was actually accepted into the school last December but I've just sort of been dragging my feet in making a decision. Last week when I finally decided, it was sort of an empty feeling. I thought that when I finally made the decision I would be bouncing off the walls (more than usual) and singing at the top of my lungs (louder than usual) for weeks but I found that when I started telling people I had made a decision, I said it as though I was kind of disappointed in myself.

I think that part of it is simply because there has always been something inside me, driving me to choose the more extreme, challenging, stretching and daring options when it comes to things like this. I'm also drawn to trying new things and I'm the first to admit that I am quite stubborn and will make decisions based on defiance or going against what I think is probably expected of me. My freshmen year of college is certainly evidence of that. And I suppose that staying at BYU didn't feel extreme, challenging, stretching and daring enough to me when I finally made that decision, although I'm not exactly sure why I feel I need to make law school any more of those things than it already is.

But as I've thought about this decision, my attitude has changed significantly; I have made the right decision and have finally reached a level of maturity where I don't have to let my emotions govern my choices in order to feel like a real person or to prove something to the people around me. And as I signed that letter of intent this morning and put it in the mail box, there was a sense of direction and excitement that was quite a confirmation for me. It was a different feeling than I had expected but it was a better feeling. There is so much worth staying here for. So many great friends that I'll still get to see. So many partially built relationships that I'll get to continue building. So much more time with my family and the opportunity to watch my nieces and nephews grow up for the next few years. Plus, they put a Cheesecake Factory in Salt Lake so I should be fine.

Now all of you are just wondering how somebody who doesn't even know that canker sores are not spelled "soars" could get into law school in the first place (BTW, thanks Nancy for informing me of that. That would have been nice to know 5 days ago though!). Well the next three years are going to be exciting and challenging. I really want to be able to say for the rest of my life at any given moment that the best year of my life is the last one that I lived; I can say that right now and it feels great--I can't wait to say it again next year at this time.

Canker Sores

This entry is intended to be completely serious. I am currently dying. I am dying a slow and painful death. A death of misery and suffering. A death that is unstoppable and unpreventable. I am dying from my mutating, mating, miserable canker sores from hell. And there is nothing I can do about it.

How do I know that there is nothing I can do about it? Found out all day today at work when I became bound and determined to discover what causes the tiny curses and how the heck I'm supposed to fight them; and I got the same answer online, in books, and from all the people I know- there is no known cause, there is no known cure, and there is NO hope. My friend Jason told me they are probably a direct result of sin. This may be true. If it is true, I really wish I could get cursed with something I can bare, like cold sores, hang nails, warts, tuberculosis, heart burn, kidney stones, spider veins, or some fungus that you can only kill through amputation. But canker sores are too much for me.

I did find out that doctors recommend that people with canker sores stop using toothpaste containing SLS, which caused a dramatic scream tonight when I realized that my toothpaste is practically just one giant glob of SLS and that, after looking through the whole house, I only found that all toothpaste is one giant glob of SLS. So I now will go one more night, my mouth a burning bloody heap of pain and woe. And there's nothing I can do about it but drain a whole bottle of NyQuil or whatever other legal drug I can get my hands on, wrap myself in a warm blanket and lay on the floor, crying myself to sleep. That is--if I can actually get to sleep. All this while the two canker sores I already have mate and create more. I wonder if someone somewhere has some kind of satanic voodoo doll that they are using to give me cancer of the mouth. Of course that would mean that someone cares enough about me to create a voodoo doll in my behalf which may actually be slightly less satanic and a bit more flattering.

Any advice on the matter would be GREATLY appreciated!! (I'm referring to the canker sores- not the voodoo dolls).

~It Just Gets Stranger

Amsterdam and Egypt!

We bought our tickets to Amsterdam last week!!!! (we= my sister Krishelle+grandma whittle (not my great grandma that I have written about- that would be hilarious)+uncle Will+me). We're leaving May 29th and we'll fly into Amsterdam and spend a day or two there plus a day or two in either London, Paris, or Copenhagen and then we'll fly down to Egypt and spend 9 or 10 days there traveling around, doing the strangest stuff we can think of, at one point floating a ways up the Nile on boats that apparently have a reputation for not always floating. Last night a friend told me that they know someone who went fishing on the Nile and saw a dead horse float by, which is actually still making me a bit queasy; but I'll see a dead horse if it means I get to spend a week and a half in Egypt getting the best tan (aka sunburn) of my life. Can't wait. We'll fly back up to Amsterdam on the 12thish of June and then fly back to the states on June 13th. Unless I unexpectedly get lost in Egypt and stay there for the rest of my life which is always a possibility. We orgininally wanted to go over to Jerusalem but shockingly my parents are not super excited about us parading up and down the Gaza strip right now in short Khaki shorts and over sized cameras hanging around our necks pointing out all the neat stuff like it's Disneyland (because I'm sure that going to Jeruselem means we would undoubtedly end up in the Gaza strip). And their worry is important to us so we altered our plans a bit although sweet Grandma Whittle has mentioned a few times that she still would like to find a way to make it to the "Holy Land" even if it does mean increased chances of having her head blown off in a freak terrorist attack on some bus. But Egypt will be just fine. Woot!