Mop Thievery.

As a short preface... the other day when I was cleaning, I found a long lost piece of paper with a few email addresses on it... so if you've never gotten emails from me before... that's probably why. Sorry! I suppose that while I'm on that note, I could bring up another issue... I know a lot of you forward my emails along to people, and I'm okay with that... but if this and been forwarded to you and you'd like to just be on the original email list, please just email me and say, "Ooh, ooh! Pick me, pick me!" or something similar.

On to story time. I've got two, one is more informational because you are all so nosy and curious about my dating life... The second is a more adventurous sort.

Wednesdays, although enjoyable, are my longest, most ridiculous days ever. A brief outline of a typical Wednesday:
4am-7:30am: work; 9am: Calculus, 11am: Physics, Noon: Chorale, 1pm: Biology, 3pm: Book of Mormon, 7pm-9pm: Orchestra. In between work and scheduled classes, I am cramming in homework and food. Basically... running all over the place like a headless chicken.

Well, yesterday... was Wednesday. Nothing really exciting happened besides mad, mad dashing all over the place, although since both Ryan and I got to Book of Mormon early, we talked for a little. It is at this point where I realize how incredibly tired I was, since I had a hard time getting to sleep the night before and exhausted suddenly steps on me from out of nowhere, wiping me out. "Are you okay?" I hate that... I have no way of veiling how I am feeling. If I am tired or sick, everyone sees it as clearly as they see their own hand. Well, yes, of course I'm okay. I'm just tired. This is true, and of course Ryan believes it. No one ever dares to disbelieve me when I say that since they can't comprehend not being tired after waking up as early as I do. But of course, all it takes is mention of the proximity of the weekend to liven me up a little... And especially since this weekend is a three-day weekend, it is the topic of nearly half the conversations happening lately.

"Do you have plans for the weekend?" Um... I have to think about that. I trudge through my molasses mind and discover... oh, yes I do! I think at this point Ryan remembers I am also in choir, and since there is a mandatory retreat scheduled for Saturday, he says, "The choir retreat?" "Yeah, that too. After that I'm going to my aunt's house and I'm staying there until Monday evening..." And then at this point my happiness slightly dissipates... I sadly add, "Which probably means that I should do all my homework Friday night..." Ryan answers with a depressed-sounding "Oh. Yeah, probably." And then the day went on.

I finally get home at 9, and start getting ready for bed. I have discovered that I only have to wake up five minutes before I need to leave if I have a night shower, lay out all my clothes, pack my makeup and such into my backpack, and get all my books and school supplies packed the night before. That way, I wake up around 3:40, change from my nightie into my clothes, grab my stuff, and get out the door. Well, in my opinion, getting ready for bed also involves one last email-check... after all, a lot of my professors send out messages late at night assuming that every student will be awake until at least midnight. Well, inside Gmail is a chat interface that connects into AIM, and as has become almost routine, Ryan and I instant message each other for awhile.

The conversation was pretty average for awhile. Then Ryan says something oddly like an answering machine message. It looks suspiciously like my voicemail message... but then, mine is quite average. Tired and a bit confused (not to mention slow-minded), I leave my computer and go take a shower. I come out... and another message. Except this time it is my voicemail message verbatim.

I shouldn't have been so darned confused, really. I was just tired. I express my confusion. He complains of his mutual confusion. Which confuses me more.

Since I use my phone as an alarm clock, I pull it out to set the alarm and de-silencify it (it was set to silent since I had been in class), and... ohhhhhhhhhhhhh. "Missed Call, Ryan Strong... Missed Call, Ryan Strong... Missed..."

This would explain a few things. If I wasn't so ridiculously exhausted, I would have definitely burst into hysterical laughter. But I'm tired. I just tell Ryan I'm not confused anymore... and that my phone had been set on silent. I am so ready for bed, and I feel like I should have collapsed sometime in the last hour... but even at the slow pace my mind was running at, I have a slight suspicion I'm about to get a phone call, even though technically I'm already having a conversation with him via the Internet. I fiddle with my phone. Silent... vibrate... full volume... half volume... three-quarters volume... seven-twelths volume... silent... open... close... vibrate... open... silent... And, well, it didn't ring, because I had fiddled it to silent, and it didn't blink, because I had fiddled it open... it was just the phone-version of an obnoxious pop-up window informing me I had a call. And, well... I took me a bit to figure out how to answer it when it was already flipped open.

I eventually found success and answered. My voice surprised me... it was dry and... well, I sounded like a receptionist from the underworld unamusedly greeting newly-dead people entering Hades, and directing them to the gates depressedly. I'm sure it was very unnerving for the receiving end, especially since my greeting wasn't even "Hello!" or "Bueno!" or "Hey!" or "Hi!" or "What's up?". No, what tumbled out of my barely functioning mouth was a terse, "What." Hidden behind the simple "What?" were the accusatory and hostile undertones which clearly asked, "Why are you calling me?" and "What do you want with me so late at night, at almost 10pm?". I even suspect that if he could see me, I would have been glaring menacingly at him.

"Uh... hi. ... ... How are you?"

I save myself in what is again the truest and most believable way... "Tired." I made a small effort to sound less hostile, and that happened... but I still sounded dry, dead, and humorless.

"Um... do you wanna go see something in the HFAC [that's the fine arts building where all the concerts and plays happen] tomorrow night with me?"

Oh. Darn, I'm slow today, I should have realized this was what was going on like... eight hours ago. It is common etiquette to avoid asking people on dates through an instant message, email, Facebook wall post, etc. The basic rule is... in person or phone call = ok. Anything less that than is too impersonal. Plus, he had been a little too inquisitive about my plans this weekend, which probably meant he was going to ask me to something Friday or Saturday night.

Tomorrow... when is tomorrow? Tomorrow... Thursday? Thursday. I think I can do Thursday. So... "Er... yeah... when?" "Um... starts at 7:30. So... I'll come get you at 7?" "Okay, yeah." ... "You looked really tired today." "Yeah." ... "Is there anything I can do for you?" Oh booger. I must sound like I was just invited to the funeral of my best friend or something. No one ever asks that with those exact words unless they're home/visiting teaching, or think you're about to have a nervous breakdown. Which I might if I didn't sleep soon. "No... no, I'm fine..." "Okay... see you tomorrow then..."

Oh. I can go to bed now. Yay. I groggily climb into bed... realize my computer is still on... hm. Having two conversations at once with the same person is kind of interesting. I say good night to Ryan (again) and sign off and finally get to sleep. I am out instantly.

I suppose we'll call that the first story, but here comes the fun one. It's definitely more exciting, even if it is shorter.

I woke up this morning energized. Yay, sleep, the cure-all. I get to work... and get assigned to clean the stairs. This involves sweeping, mopping, and scrubbing them all, and then sweeping and vacuuming all the landings. Well, the JFSB is huge, to say the least. There are four flights of stairs I get to clean... one on each corner of the building. Now, including parking levels, there are seven levels. Which basically means... a LOT of stairs. And, unfortunately, although there are usually multiple people assigned to this chore, my supervisor only assigned me to do it. Even though this is an indirect praise (I trust you to do the work of two or three people in less time!), this is mildly frustrating.

I sweep. Sweep. ... And then, I put the broom away. I sidle down to the basement custodial closet to get an Unger mop, and--- ARGH! WHERE ARE THEY? I search each closet repeatedly for the mops. None of them are there... which means they are all in use.

I can't not mop.

I mean, the stairs are FILTHY! What with the snow and salt and dirt and over the ground outside, once people walk in, the dirty snow melts into dirt slush and dries on the stairs. Also, people track in salt as well. Shoes prints. All over the place. So.. so... disgusting, and desperately screaming to be cleaned.

But no mop. I cry out in distress. My hungry stomach joins in, making a chorus of general tragedy.

I saunter depressedly over to the custodial office, where my boss is training the new guy... I inquire about mops... at which point I notice Brian munching on a cream-cheese-less wheat bagel. He gives me the other half of the bagel, which causes my screaming stomach to immediately shut up, and says, "What, are there no more in the closets?"

"No, none. And the stairs are filthy."

We double check the closets... and then Brian gets a crazy look in his eye, as he continues to devour the helpless bagel. "We could always steal a mop from the other crew..." I'm sure my eyes took on that evil glint as well. Mop stealing: necessary, barbaric, and totally adventurous. I take an evil bite into my equally helpless half-bagel, and agree.

Always with my iPod handy, I turn the song to the Mission Impossible Theme to spice it up. Immediately, our gaits turn into sneaky spy-like walks. We creep down the basement hallways like spiders, pressed against the walls, seeking out the not-so-innocent mophogs. Each empty hallway we pass is a relief. Then... the last hallway.

Voices. Laughter. Music. We definitely found the other crew.

Brian is the lead student. So, in addition to higher pay, he has valuable custodial authority... As far as my position goes, we have fake rankings. I am directly under Brian, so if he ever died, or disappeared, or quit... I'd be lead student. So... I've got faux authority, but no extra pay. Thankfully, I only need authority to pull off the mop stealing. We pull out of our strangely feline spywalks and start walking authoritatively down the hallway, like we were supposed to be there. The thing is, high ranking custodians pretty can go wherever they need without being questioned, because it is assumed that we know exactly what we're doing. And we do.

We make it through the first wave of enemy crewmembers without breaching security.

"Target identified, over," says Brian.

I look over and see it. An Unger mop bucket... with two Unger mops.

"Copy, over." We move in. Brian smoothly grabs the mop and squeezes the water out. This is a rather noisy business... but the enemy don't notice, because Brian and I are nothing out of the ordinary, and it probably did not register that it wasn't one of their crew making the water noises, since they were so commonplace. Then, I grab the mop, prop it on my shoulder, and we smoothly walk away, acting quite ordinary and as if we had been in possession of the mop the whole time.

We clear the enemy lines again, and return to our territory. "Target obtained, mission complete."

Brian and I exchange farewells, and I, short on time, return to stair cleaning.

Getting Back in the Groove.

I am back! And, as far as I can tell, all is well. I haven't really got any exciting stories as of yet, but I can tell you about my classes... because, well... that's all that has been occupying my life lately, hehe.

I have a grand total of ten classes this semester, but overall it's an easier workload this time since it's a bunch of easy low-credit classes and a few difficult ones.

My first class is Calculus 2... which shouldn't be that bad since I already know the material, and I know the professor already. I have it every single day. Unfortunately, since I know the stuff that's being taught already, I have a teensy tendency to doze off in class... in the front row... midsentence or midsymbol in notes... right under Dr. Cardon's nose. I have tried various methods of staying awake in this class. Varying amounts of sleep the previous night seem to have no impact... high dosages of sugar usually get me through the first half... but by far, the best method is totally not paying attention to the lecture and thinking about something exciting. If I try to pay attention, sadly I shall inevitably fall asleep, and miraculously still have all the notes at the end of class. (Accurate and precise sleep-note-taking is a valuable skill.)

My next class is by far the hardest. Physics 220 is reputed to be the most difficult and most failed class on campus... after all, unlike mechanics and dynamics, the physics of electricity and magnetism isn't intuitive. Now add in the calculus to the difficult concepts, and we have a challenge. Which, quite frankly, I am deathly excited for. Jackie is also in this class with me. The trick to learning physics is simple. Study buddy. A study buddy whose bed is about fifteen meters from yours is even better. It also helps if she happens to be a physics major... like Jackie. The class itself has a few fun demos, but mostly we haven't done anything particularly exciting, not even real lectures. Apparently class time is for clarification rather than learning what the book says... well, that's all fine and dandy I suppose.

When I get out of physics, I dash like a madwoman to the HFAC for University Chorale. Yes, I got in. And yay! I'm a second alto. Such a thing thrills me! I haven't learned much yet. Most of the techniques so far I learned in elementary school choir, or in marching or symphonic band. And since I'm not terrible at sight reading music, this class is a fun break from an otherwise plain ol' stressful academic Monday, Wednesday, or Friday. Another added benefit in this class is that I happen to be among the taller altos, so I'm in the back, and can spy on my friends, like Marissa, Krista, Will, Ryan, and Dallin (in order of distance from me) from my perch near the top of the choir. Sweet, glorified pudding.

When I get out of choir, I run back to the building where I had physics for biology, which I also have with Jackie. I have yet to see if I will like this subject... so far we've only talked about critical thinking, and how to find reputable studies, and well... nothing biology-ish yet. I am actually quite proud of myself for not falling asleep in this class yet, since we haven't done anything particularly exciting.

My Book of Mormon class is amazing. I usually sit with Hillary and Ryan, and Brother Swift is engaging. He tends to go off on random, but appropriate, tangents all the time, which serve a multipurpose use. The first, I stay awake. The second, I pick up on "side note" principles that I hadn't noticed before. And since it happens to be my last class on Monday (an evil day if I may say so), I happen to enjoy more exquisitely the sound of the bell at the end of class, even if class was enjoyable. I mean, this is the time where my eyelids are starting to droop, and I'm hungry, and I can't possibly intake anymore academic material. Home, sweet home, here I come!

My first class on Tuesdays and Thursdays is social dance, which is basically... beginning ballroom dance. Although I was terrified that I would suck royally at this class, I have found myself to be among the better dancers. This, my friends, is quite thrilling. I know, I know, all we are learning so far is Foxtrot... but, the point is, I'm good at what I've learned so far. My marching band experience has given me a preface to the experience of learning smooth and continuous footwork, and a sense of rhythm. The only thing that I have to adjust... one of the ten commandments of marching band is, "Thou shalt not bounce when moving." Welcome to dance, where you're supposed to move up and down with your feet.

I also have an Isaiah class on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I am SO excited for this one. As the sort of person who hates not understanding things, I figured I'd better shape up and at least develop the skills to understand Isaiah. That guy and I have some serious communication issues, but I'm sure he has some important things to say... so here goes! I sit in between Jon (my FHE husband, haha) and Angela (Clifton's girlfriend), so again, I have wondrous study buddies. Except I've learned that Jon is quite the chatterbox. It's just that he's never in a situation where he's heard (remember he talks so quietly I have to strain to understand him). All I know is that there's a continuous strain of Jon-commentary going throughout the class. He also snickers to himself a lot. It would be annoying if it weren't for.. well, okay. It is annoying. Quite. But the seats have been assigned and there's no moving away from Sir Jon the Mumbler.

My last class on those days is Irish dance... beginning level, of course. So far, this has been a tad bit more frustrating than social dance. The teacher for this one doesn't have as spiffy a set of teaching skills as my social dance teacher, so I'm struggling a little more to pick up the footwork from her. And, if most of the more agile class has figured it out, she moves on to a new, more complicated move. Oh dearie goodness me, though. I feel so lost sometimes in that class. But the great thing is... both Hillary and Rachel are also in this class, so we can have our own Irish dance practice in our lobby... slow-paced just for me. Usually they pick it up faster and are better at teaching me the moves.

The last class that has a scheduled time for is University Orchestra... yes, a full orchestra! I am quite literally squealing with delight at the thought of it. I'm playing bassoon, and the better thing is... we are playing some of my most favorite pieces, including Swan Lake, Carmen, Hungarian Dance, and the Unfinished Symphony. I am SO excited! It meets once a week in the the evening time, and although we don't start playing until tomorrow... well. Let's just say my heart is pounding out of my chest in anticipation.

My last class... is a joke. Genuinely. It is comparable to Chandler High's safety ed course. A joke. Same material minus the driver's ed portion... basic information about healthy living. It's even more of a joke since it's only offered online, and it's only half a credit. So... whatever.

That's my life at the moment, and I have to dash off to Irish dance in a few minutes, so I may write you some amazing stories later.