German Lighthouse

On Saturday the long awaited Mormon Youth Conference occurred. Last week I asked you all for some ideas for what to do with the kids and you were extremely helpful. So, thank you for that! I've already had a couple of friends in the U.S. mention that they raided the comments of that post for ideas for their own youth activities they are putting together this summer. And now those friends are probably stalking you and worshiping pictures of you asleep in bed. YOU'RE WELCOME.

We gathered the twenty plus teenagers at the dock in the morning and boated off to an island that has a small WWII German lighthouse at the very top of it. It was a one mile or so hike through thick jungle before we got there.

Sneezing

My sister Krishelle graced the land of Palau with her presence last night. Daniel and I picked her up at the airport after dark and then both simultaneously spoke at 700 words per minute on the entire drive back to our place, explaining every single thing we have ever heard about Palau.

This is the first time we have had a guest here, and it was so very strange to have someone around. I felt like a Kindergartner showing his mom his classroom. Except instead of Kindergartner, I'm practically a grown up who's probably going to go through puberty soon. And instead of my mom it's my older sister who convinced me until I was roughly eight years old that she had kidnapped me at a carnival from bad people and somehow got Bob and Cathie to believe I was their child and that she would be willing to keep the secret if I just did whatever she said.

THAT sister. THAT sister has traveled to the other side of the world to visit me in Palau.

I'm taking some time off of work to babysit show her around our beautiful island nation. Daniel hoped to be able to do the same but since he just took eleventy million days off in a row, ending late last week, so he could frolic in the meadows with his parents in the U.S., he feels like he should spend a little time in the office now.

Pictures & Weekly Distractions

Happy weekend, Strangers. It's an especially happy one for me. The prodigal son, Daniel, has returned. And what's more, my sister, Krishelle, will be arriving in Palau Sunday night. I can't tell you how excited I am to have a clean apartment for two whole weeks (the amount of time she'll be here). I hope she brings rubber gloves and a broom!

And now, your pictures and distractions:



We went diving this week. And saw a billion sharks, including this one. AND, I got to see like FOUR sea turtles! I love them with every fiber of my being! Thanks for the picture, Deb.

What the People Want to Know

This is basically the laziest post of all time. I know this. It's been a busy week. There was tv to be watched.

I was googling something earlier and the Internet happened to be working well enough in Palau today that the predictor thingy on Google was actually functioning. I'm always intrigued by what Google thinks I'm about to ask, considering that this supposedly means that there are a substantial number of people searching the predictions it shows.

So I thought I would test out a few common things to see what the members of society are going to in droves to ask the world wide web. Enjoy.


Of course it licks you. IT'S A CAT.

Traipsing

Tonight Daniel finally returns from what is most definitely the longest business trip of all time. He left on this thing almost FOUR weeks ago. And when he gets back tonight, I'm going to drive him home from the airport, handcuff him to the apartment, and force him to listen to almost four weeks of updates about every moment of every day that I've been having to keep all to myself since the middle of June.

Well, and I guess I'll have to let him out briefly because he has almost four weeks worth of laundry to do, since I have now worn every item of clothing in the house at least three times.

It really was very irresponsible of him to leave like that and not make arrangements for the laundry.

Knowing that his return is imminent, I have been reflecting in the last few days (half of you just closed Stranger when you saw the word "reflecting." WELL JOKE'S ON YOU BECAUSE THERE'S CHEESECAKE AT THE END FOR EVERYONE WHO STICKS AROUND).

Youth Conference

This coming Saturday is the dreaded "Youth Conference" with the church kids that we've been planning for a few months. And when I say "planning for a few months," I mean "knowing that it's coming and finally meeting to talk about it for the very first time last Friday." And by "dreaded" I mean "I'm considering entering into the witness protection program to get out of this situation because I dread it so much."

Ok, an attitude adjustment could go a long way. I know this guys. Why do you always choose times like this to lecture me about my attitude and how slutty my outfits are?

Anyway, for those unfamiliar with the forty volume set of Mormon lingo dictionaries, Youth Conference is a gigantic outing of some sort that takes place with Mormon kids, ages 14-17, every summer within their local congregations. They usually happen over the course of two or three days and include excessive amounts of games and hormones. They're basically exactly like every rumor you've ever heard about fanatical Christian Bible camps in the south except way less condemnation of Harry Potter and more Jello.

Youth conferences often take the form of some kind of camp-out and I have very fond memories of them as a teenager. Never did I realize how much effort and thought has to go into the planning of one of these things until this year.

Squalor

As it turns out, I'm kind of a slob. I've never really known this because I've never lived alone before and my consideration of others is apparently a greater motivator of my actions than my laziness so I typically clean up after myself. I think this is called "responsibility."

Ok, I guess "consideration of others" isn't entirely accurate. Probably, if I'm being honest, the main reason I keep a place clean when I have roommates is to make sure that I set a standard of acceptable cleanliness so I don't have to live in their squalor. Because someone else's squalor? Well, let me use math to explain it:

My squalor < other people's squalor (except for Paul Simon's, which I would gladly let into my life if he so wished)

The moment Daniel left, however long ago it was (sometime around y2k, I think), I found myself doing a slip 'n slide stomach-jump onto the slippery-slope of sordid sanitation standards (if you read that out loud, it will help you overcome your speech impediments). It was just so easy. One day I walked into the apartment after work and threw my clothes onto the floor in the front room and I started to kick them toward the bedroom like I usually do, because I'm very clean and tidy, and suddenly it hit me: WHY?

Pictures & Weekly Distractions

Happy Independence Day, Strangers. I hope you all had a good one without me. Thanks for the invite to your parties, by the way. Sorry I couldn't make it. I had to spend the day by myself crying in my apartment and writing in my journal to the sounds of Norah Jones in the background.

I hope all you fellow Americans celebrated well this week. Our country is pretty awesome.

And now, your pictures and distractions:



This came in the mail a few days ago from "The Q of C Headquarters." When I tried to take it to the FBI, they just got really freaked out and told me they couldn't get involved.

Life is in Session!

I've been meaning to write this post for a long time but just haven't gotten around to it because LAZINESS.

As you might remember, if you were around then, I had a few months in Palau that were . . . a little rough. I refer to January of this year as "the black hole of my existence," in fact. Not to be dramatic or anything.

There were a lot of things going on then and that was really a time I hope to never have to experience again. I got to Palau last October and sort of settled in through my shell shock for a month or two. When December hit, Palau started freaking me out. By January I was not in a stable place.

Palau was much different than I expected. In retrospect, it wasn't worse than I imagined. It was just different, and I wasn't really prepared mentally to handle it because it was SO unfamiliar and in ways I did not anticipate. I had never lived in a place that was so isolated. Never experienced living in a VERY small town. Didn't know what it was like dealing with constant blistering temperatures and insane humidity. I felt lost as to where my life would go next. And the whole time I just kept wondering why on Earth I left the life that I absolutely loved in Salt Lake City to trap myself in the middle of nowhere.

Ham & Cheese

I am now on week three of forced alone time and I have started to snap.

Not, like, Westside Story dance snapping. I mean like "going crazy" snapping. Maybe I didn't need to clarify that. But this whole story turns out much differently if you think I started snapping my fingers and dancing my emotions at the end.

For the first week of Daniel's, ok I'm just going to say it, SELFISH trip to the United States of America, things were generally fine. After dropping him off at the airport I got back to the apartment, now 1:00 in the morning, sat in a chair in the corner of the room, and had a full-blown conversation with myself where I decided that I was capable of living alone.

Then over the next several days I was surprised to see how ok things actually were. And honestly (don't tell Daniel) some things were a LOT more convenient without him here. No more coordinating schedules with anyone. No more being late to stuff. No more wondering whether Daniel is hiding in the apartment waiting to jump out and act like a murderer every time I come home. No more hearing someone complain all the time about me wearing their clothes. Etc.