Bakey at the Lakey

A few weeks ago, Emily, Debra, Debra's boyfriend, Mike, and some of Mike's room mates went to Eugene lake. The deepest part of the lake is about four feet, and it stays around this depth the whole time. Though there wasn't much swimming going on, there was a lot of wading, and exploring. I threw rocks, and Debra picked up logs. We all got a little bit burned, but it was well worth it.

The whole time we played at the lake, I wished and yearned for a horse to ride around in the water. I would love it- really, the water never got deep. I could ride and ride, and swim and float all day long. Let me get roasted-toasted! I careth not!

I miss horses.

Three weeks until school is over. Then I can scratch Splash's rump and feed him my watermelon rinds. Oh, summer.

Porter Park

My roommate Emily and I frequently go on dates. Usually, our dates take place in the nearby park, Porter Park. It was in this park that we watched the intense lightning last night. It is in this park that we swing and play games like "would you rather?", and "Truth or dare." (pick truth) Last time we went, Emily took her amazing camera, and I took pictures of us, and of myself. Here are some of them. True documentation that I actually live, and that I have a room mate.

The sun was low, and everything seemed gilded. Oh, the beauty of this earth. Oh, the beauty of the skies. Oh, the beauty of the eyes my grandmother gave me.

Organic

There is this boy in my class- accounting, again- who is very anti-California. He wants to fight about it, and when I defend my home, he laughs and wonders aloud why I am getting excited. He calls me a hippie, and then sings to himself a song about how all hippies should be put on an island with all of the 'queers'. Because I am California, I must be a hippie.

I asked him if he had ever gone to California, and he said "yes, but I try to avoid it." I asked where in California he had been, whether it was San Francisco or L.A., because surely that would explain his misconceptions. He had only been to Los Angeles. Loser. I love how sure he is that every Californian is a hippie. He has not idea that we in CA feed half of the world. He has no idea that we have troubles with hippies there- as if they had ANY problems with hippies in Utah, where this dummy is from. He has no idea that we need water from the Delta, but cannot get it because of the Delta Smelt, a fish that is 'endangered'.

He says I must smoke the "happy weed", a conclusion he reached when he learned that I am Californian. I concluded that he must smoke cow crap because he is from Utah. I said 'yes. I do smoke weed. The word of wisdom means nothing to me. I am excluded because I am from California." This is not only a place of learning, but a magnet for closed-minded fools. Poor souls who will never learn to accept other people, and people who bring truth and light to the term "Utahrds." This boy wins them all: he creates these stereotypes on all sides of the spectrum.

Thank you John, from Utah. Thank you for proving every anti-Utah Californian right. Thank you.

Something's gotta give

Last night I took a math test. I got a really low score. I would not be upset, but I knew the material. I knew the stuff. I am so disappointed. I am struggling in this class, and I am so tired. I have a really hard time focusing, or even caring about school. In the meantime, I've gotten four lectures about how I only pay a third of what school normally costs. Guess who pays the other two-thirds? The little ol' tithepayers of Mexico and Cambodia. (everywhere else too, but these are the impoverished countries that are used as examples.) I know that they do this, and this knowledge makes me want to vomit, I am so guilty. I am just the rich American who can't do work to save her life. I have always thought that I was a good worker, and maybe I am when it comes to manual labor, but I cannot make myself work harder. This is so difficult.

The faith thing is hard. I don't fell worthy of anything, I fell judgemental all of the time, and disappointed in myself. Usually I love life, but right now things are difficult.

I noticed my roommate had a hickey, and she has been with her boyfriend for two weeks. Two weeks. She acted embarrassed, but the embarrassment was because I was freaked out, not that she had done it. She kept asking, "do you think I am a skank? Do you think I am a slut?" I didn't then, but now I am a little freaked out. How far are you allowed to go as boyfriend and girlfriend? I asked her if they had talked about when they would stop, where they would draw the line. She said that she was quite sure that he would not try anything, and that the two of them were going to be able to stop. I'm not so sure. No one is that good. No one is that level-headed. I hope she doesn't read this post because she will think I am calling her a woman-of-ill-repute. I don't know. She asked what I was thinking, and I really didn't know what I was thinking. Did she want my approval? Did she want a lecture? Did she want me to clap her on the back and say "hit it guuurl.."?

I am disappointed. I am worried.

Something has gotta give.

The Employee Trades His Labor for a Wage...

As I sit here in Agricultural Accounting, I think about how much I would rather be in my Middle East Class.

I do love my teacher for this class, this man who looks like the man from Up. ("MR. FREDRICKSON! I found the snipe! Are snipes big? Are they colorful? Do they like chocolate?")

I don't like how the language of accounting is something completely skewed from normal language. Since when did 'gross' mean whole instead of large? Why is credit sometimes addition and sometimes subtraction?

Brother Anderson, my teachy, said that there were some monks who developed this system. I would like to find these monks and question them,politely, about whythehecktheywouldstinkindevelopsuchasystem! I think that I would like to live in a monastery though... the shaved heads, the comfy robes, the mood music...


As I sit here in Agricultural Accounting, I think about how much I would rather be in a Chinese Monastery.

Dreaming of Mathematics

I just spent five years doing math. Ok, not really, only five hours last night, but when something like math seeps into your dreams, you know you've done too much of it. I went from factoring polynomials to graphing 3 -23.
Do you wanna know a secret? I liked doing this math... my eyes did get a bit fuzzy during the second hour, but I figured that to be the start-of-the-run-fatigue- I needed to get into the night a bit more to really get into the groove.
Also, I had been fasting during this math-a-thon, so sometimes, I had an easier time understanding the problems. At one point, I had to do something where a blind guess is the next step. I was thinking, thinking, and the I knew! I thought to myself, "haha, maybe I should fast everytime I do homework." Maybe I should... I did so like doing the math last night, even though I may get a poor grade in this class. I liked this night of math.
Area of a cylinder= A(area)B(base)H(height). Now you know.

I've come to the decision that I will no longer sit by and wait. I am going to talk to whomever I want to talk to. I am tired of waiting for people to say hello. I bombard them with greetings of my own. No longer will I avoid eye-contact. It's time to laugh at those who will not look at me, and it is time to laugh when something funny happens- from a squirrel inviting me to a staring contest to hearing a boy say "so is it done then? The spawning and all that?"
Today I was the big one and said hello to someone who I had been feuding with. I said hello to the man-child who had forced his way into my apartment and yelled at me, all in the name of "crush/infatuation/sex appeal." I said hello to him, and asked after him. I don't know how I felt about that, but I knew that I needed to forgive and forget, if only for my own sake. Curiouser and curiouser...
No more waiting. When I exercise physically, I hurt. It is time to leap out of my comfort zone into the zone of the unknown- my faith muscles have been a bit flabby. Time to strengthen them. Time to work.
Much love,
Victoria

Tori Who Is

Much as I have been opposed to blogs, I have realized that they are sometimes the only connection that I have to cousins, sisters-in-law, horrible cakes, missions, and mothers. A person needs a connection to good, especially in a place where all connections are seen as dull, conforming tidbits. Maybe you want to read my blog; maybe you don't. The point is that I am blogging, and I'm excited about it. I guess it show you how very easily hate is turned to love...
Tori is
Tori will be
Tori thinks
Tori wonders
Tori lives