Best Friend Story #7: "I Must Kill You to Assimilate ________"

      It's only natural for really good friends to threaten to kill each other on a regular basis. Right?
     This trend started around October last year, when I was starting to seriously think about leaving for school. I needed boots. I would be plowing into Idaho right in the middle of winter, so I needed the appropriate footwear. It was around this time that I also had a burning desire to own a pair of lace up boots, so I went online shopping with my dad and we bought a pair of fuzzy winter boots and, the store we were shopping at no longer had the other boots I wanted in stock, so we bought the next best option.
     The boots were still super cute. And when they arrived I sent a picture to Hannah expressing my excitement. She responded by posting a status, stating: "Miranda has cuter boots than me. Ergo, I must kill her to assimilate her finer footwear."
     Hannah and I are notorious for making plans for taking over the world, not getting jealous over each other's clothes. At least I think that's the case. So I think this came as a shock to most people.
     This happened again just this past April, when I bought a white leather jacket for myself. Now she needs to kill me to assimilate my finer footwear and jacket.
      I should probably find something of Hannah's that I need to kill her to acquire.

MORAL OF THE STORY: It's not a true friendship until you've threatened to kill each other at least once.

Best Friend Story #6: How to Insult a Storm Trooper

     Well folks, we're a third of the way to the finish, and this month it's a good one.
     For my 17th birthday, I had the marvelous opportunity to choose where I wanted to spend it. Disneyland was the obvious choice for location and Hannah, being an almost-college student that had no obligations at the time (she had just graduated and didn't need to go to school for several more weeks), was the obvious choice for a companion. Much like Girl's Camp, Disneyland is the birthplace of many inside jokes, such as a game we invented called Guess the Meme Face.

(Guess the Meme Faces)

(Hint: It's Annoying Facebook Girl and Philosoraptor)

     That set aside, we were waiting in the obnoxiously long line for the new and improved Star Tours. In our boredom, we noticed two storm troopers walking towards the building the ride was contained in. And Hannah, in her infinite glory, suggested I pull one of them aside and let them know that they are "a little short to be a storm trooper" (reference).

     There was a little dispute over who should be the one to make the statement, and after Hannah backed off and I took it upon myself to do the thing. So I reached out and tapped one as he walked by, half of my mind thinking he wouldn't even turn to give me the time of day.

     He didn't.

     I now had not only captured the attention of my family, but the surrounding Disneyland goers as well. So I did the only thing I could think to do. I took off my sunglasses and said, "Aren't you a little short to be a storm trooper?"

     I still was expecting this guy to quietly move on. It seemed like the kind of thing he got told 50 times a day. But apparently not, because he only stepped closer (close enough that I could see his eyes through his helmet), and just slowly shook his head. It all happened in a very intense 25 seconds. I still, to this day, do not know how I managed to keep a straight face through the whole thing.

     Every time I go back to Disneyland I try to do the same thing, but to no avail. It was a once in a lifetime thing.

MORAL OF THE STORY: When you're at Disneyland and you have a one-sided conversation with an employee wearing a storm trooper helmet, don't let the power go to your head.

Best Friend Story #5: Pokemon

     In the summer of my fifteenth year, I attended Girl's Camp. Hannah was there as well (clearly). Being a fifth year and she, being a sixth year, we both had the privilege of teaching the younger campers, particularly the fourth years. This included educating them in the art of making bedrolls, first aid, and cooking in Dutch ovens. It was also the birthplace of many inside jokes. Airplanes.
     At Girl's Camp, at the end of your fifth year, you receive an award of sorts known as the Liahona. In short, you are observed and given a "point of the compass" (mountain, living things, rivers and streams, campfire, tree, stars, true camper) based on  the leadership qualities you possess. The year before, Hannah was awarded with rivers and streams. She used this to introduce herself as a type of Pokémon.
     On the first or second day of certification, we introduced ourselves to the girls to which Hannah proclaimed, "My name is Hannah, I am a water type Pokémon. This is Miranda. She is also a water type Pokémon."
     Thursday night is the Liahona ceremony, and I was given the campfire. Almost immediately after the ceremony, Hannah approached me.

     HANNAH: You got the campfire.
     ME: Yes?
     HANNAH: Do you know what this means?
     ME: No?
     HANNAH: You are a fire-type Pokémon.

     It's a good day when you are appointed to a group of Pokémon. Gives you a sense of purpose in life.

MORAL OF THE STORY: Find out what type of Pokémon you are. You didn't know you were missing it from your life until you find out.
    

Best Friend Story #4: Critique

     Hannah and I have this thing where we find really sick enjoyment in locating horribly written stories/fanfictions and analyzing them to no end. Ripping these stories apart brings us more joy than Dean Winchester in a tuxedo because let's face it, there's nothing better than knowing you're better than someone else at something.
     On the Fourth of July last year, Hannah kick-started this trend when she posted this video to my Facebook timeline.

     And once we get started on something, it's difficult to get us to stop. So, we even took it so far as to dedicating an entire night to (attempting to) watching said video over and over again so we could analyze both author and story. We even bought drinks and created our own bar, complete with juice, water, and diet Coke.

Exhibit A

(The bar of two Mormon girls under the age of 21)

     We even bought several bags of air. Lucky for us, the companies were courteous enough to include food in said bags.

Exhibit B

(Hot Cheetos in Hannah's bag of air)

     Instead of analyzing bad fanfiction that night, we ended up reading even more bad fanfiction and talking about boys and working on our own stories for Camp NaNoWriMo that year. We are very productive people.

MORAL OF THE STORY: Abandon all hopes of attempting to follow a set schedule with your best friend because, well.

Best Friend Story #3: War

     11 October, 2012: 7:55 PM (PST)

     I had returned home from a long and stressful day at work, feeling rather upset at everything in general for reasons I cannot currently recall. I ate some dinner, and then logged onto Facebook to see that infamous little red square in the upper left hand corner of my screen. I clicked on it, and read the message: "Hannah Gunson posted a photo to your timeline." The little thumbnail that came with the notification told me infinitely more.
     For those who are not aware, I had (and still do have) a bit of a liking towards actor Jeremy Renner. I can say this without shame since all of my Facebook friends have seen the aftereffects of the battles Hannah and I took part in.
     Anyway, I clicked on this link, and was met with this:

                         

     and I did that thing where I stopped breathing for a few seconds and had to make sure my heart was still beating because... well.
     Ten comments later, Hannah wrote: "I am impervious because you fight fire with fire and sexy with sexy so he barely makes me tingle.
     "(That was a dare, by the way)"
     Now, the reason Hannah and I are so close is because we know each others secrets. And at this point, I was well aware of her attraction towards Chris Evans. So, I posted a photo to her wall. We had exploited each other's weaknesses. And the world exploded. And the best part about fighting in a war against your best friend is the concern you always have for each other. For example: (An actual conversation that took place)

     ME: Now on to more important things, like how are you on ammo?
     HANNAH: Empty, for now. Doing homework.... I can refill by tonight for war tomorrow.
     HANNAH: I love how we're considerate of each other. All wars should be fought this way.
     ME: Tell me about it. I will wait.

     This is called a considerate war. The whole world should be like this.

MORAL OF THE STORY: When you've got beef on your best friend, you take advantage of it.

Best Friend Story 2/18: Beds

     In August of 2012, I attended a YSA (young single adult) conference with Hannah and some other close friends. In attendance, we danced, we sang with people who sat in the hallways with their guitars, fell behind on our word counts for Camp NaNoWriMo, out-awkwarded friends, listened to dramatic readings of horrible fanfictions, declared Disneyland better than Six Flags (who would argue it anyway?), refrenced my books, and attended vampire tea parties (there will be a post about this in December this year).
     And by some strange series of events, it wound up being Hannah Gunson, Katelyn Dorny, Katherine Swihart, and Miranda Day all in the same hotel room. And by an even stranger turn of events, Hannah and I wound up sleeping in the same bed. I believe it was because we were the two of us four that were participating in Camp NaNoWriMo and we were considering staying up later to write.
     ANYWAY, I thought it would be wise to give Hannah a fair warning since people I have shared beds with always have... interesting stories to share with me in the morning. Sometimes I push people off in my sleep, sometimes I talk, and one time I woke up holding hands with whoever I was sharing with.
     Unfortunately, it didn't do anything to help the situation, because when I woke up, Hannah informed me that in the middle of the night, I mumbled something in my sleep and turned over, waking her up. And then (quite abruptly, I might add), I swung my arm around and smacked her in the shoulder.
     This inevitably led to lots of jokes directed towards me regarding what married life for me is going to be like.
     (Dear Future Husband,
     I am apologizing ahead of time for any strange behaviors I may exhibit in my sleep. Just bear with me, because sometimes I'm nice and you'll wake up in the morning and see that we are holding hands.
     Love,
     Miranda)

MORAL OF THE STORY: Don't share a bed with your best friend.

Best Friend Story 1/18: Laughter

     On April 18th of this year, I went to Disneyland with Hannah Gunson, Burke McComb, and Forrest Nerdin.

     While waiting in line for the new and improved Star Tours, we were messing around with our 3-D glasses and suddenly in the middle of our conversation, Hannah pointed out, "I wonder how long we could look at each other and not laugh."

     Seeing that we had not in fact tried this out in any way, shape, or form, I took this as a challenge and promptly suggested that we see how long we could hold eye contact without laughing.

     There was about thirty seconds of preparation (which consisted mostly of face-slapping and intense moments of frowning to ensure the maintaining of a straight face), and then the stare-off commenced.

     It was a very tense three seconds.

     MORAL OF THE STORY: Never challenge your best friend to a staring contest. You're just gonna end up giggling like a couple of schoolgirls.

Trees are the Spawn of the Devil

     Story Time 3

     Trees

     Today, upon finishing my first class of the morning, I was taking my normal route from the Ricks Building to the Taylor Building for my religion class. This is a walk I take every Tuesday and Thursday, so obviously it is something I am quite accustomed to. I'm walking along, listening to my music, and I even take the time to Snapchat a good friend of mine.

     So I reach about the halfway point (for those of you who have attended BYU-Idaho, I was walking by the Benson) where there was a wall of trees to my right and a parking lot to my left. Over the beat of "Bedroom Hymns" by Florence and the Machine, I heard what I thought was some sort of laugh. This stuck me as strange, provided that there is no such laugh in this music that I was listening to, but it was getting louder.

     I turned to see what was going on just as a person in a camouflage suit (you know, like the ones that the military uses) looming out of the trees at me.

     Now, when someone tries to scare me, I usually display one of two reactions. One of which is to not even flinch. The other is to hit something.

     And I wouldn't be writing this entry if I had chosen the first of those two.

     No, I did not hit the guy, though I did come dangerously close.

     Moral of the story: Don't try to scare me, there's no telling what I'm going to do.

On the Subject of Dads and Professors

     Yesterday I had one of those moments where I just thought to myself, I need to write a blog entry about that or I'll never be able to live with myself.
     That thing, or person, really, is my dad.
     Everyone loves their dad. At least I haven't met anybody who has a reason not to like their father. So I'm going to tell you a little bit about my dad and what makes him so fantastic.
     He essentially grew up with three moms. His real mom (the one who physically gave birth to him), and two older sisters who were twelve and fourteen years his senior while his father was in the Air Force. His masculinity is probably safer than any other man I know.
     In his youth, my dad and his friend Tommy set a creek bed on fire. Also in his youth he nearly lit an entire forest on fire. And people wonder where my fascination with fire comes from.
     He knows how to fly a plane. Or at least he knew how to fly a plane. I'm sure we could stick him in a cockpit and he would be just fine. It's just like riding a bike, right?
     He married my mom, and if that never happened, then I would cease to exist. You can thank him for that one on your way out.
     When he was a seminary teacher, he took guns to his class.
     He kept my sister, Hannah, safe in a room full of 6-7 boys also when he was a seminary teacher.
     He taught his children how to build explosives using Sobe bottles (before they went plastic), gasoline, and fire.
     He takes his family dirtbike riding, skiing, and he encouraged me and my brother when we chose to play two of the most violent sports ever.
     He's probably the funniest person I'll ever meet.
     He gets just as excited as I do over superhero movies (minus the extra fangirling over... certain people).
     He can quote movies all day long. The most popular one seems to be in the movies when the villain starts talking excessively and one of us will lean over to the other and mutter "He starts monologuing!"
   
     Yesterday in my Light and Sound class, as a demonstration of mass distribution and pressure, our professor did the classic example of lying down on a bed of nails. And us, being the classic college students that we are, whipped out our phones to take pictures (this was also strangely encouraged by our professor). But before that happened, he asked his helpers to place another board of nails on top of him.

    I can feel the skepticism. Pics or it didn't happen, right?

    Well.

Exhibit A:

     And then he asked us to place a slab of concrete on top.

Exhibit B:

     So now, thinking that we had gone as far as we had planned on, I prepared a message when said professor announced: "Send one of the girls up here to stand on me!"
     Phones were pulled back out, cameras opened, and we waited to see who would step up to the place. Finally, we had a volunteer, and this is what ensued.

Exhibit C:

     Finally satisfied with what I had, I sent that picture to a group of friends on top of my own family with the following caption: "Today in class we sandwiched our professor between two beds of nails and stuck a girl on top. What did you do?"
     I should have known that my dad would reply with something ridiculous, but I was not prepared for what I got.
     He replied with, "Killed a badger with my bare hands, taught a crocodile how to roll over and play dead, and then helped an old lady cross the street."
     Apparently his mission was to get me to laugh so hard I would snort, drawing unwanted attention to myself, and he succeeded.
     My dad, ladies and gentlemen.

Pocket Equality

     I once saw a post that said something along the lines of: "I'm sick and tired of guys being able to fit phones, wallets, pens, pencils, and [censored] television remotes in their pockets. When I go out to buy pants, I can barely fit my phone. That isn't attractive. POCKET EQUALITY!"
     When I was in sixth grade, I had to wear a pair of old pants that belonged to my father in my role in the play I was participating in. One day, during a break in dress rehearsal, I put my hands in my pockets. In my not-so-ripe age of twelve, I did not take much notice as to how considerably deeper they were in comparison to my own jeans. Of course, at that time, I was more concerned about projecting my voice to the back of the auditorium than I was about the depths of my pockets.
     Although I do have reason to believe that this experience etched some sort of unconscious thought process in me in which I never seemed to pick out pants that had the little pockets that showed off half of my cell phone. The exception to this statement would be when I bought a pair of white capris that had faux pockets.
     Which allows me to segue into my next topic.
     Faux pockets.
     What genius came up with that idea?
     What I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall during that meeting.
     "Okay, folks, our line of jeans is losing its popularity among teenage girls. What should we do to fix this?"
     "Let's make a line of jeans that looks like they have pockets but when the girls try to put their things in, there's really nothing there."
     "Brilliant, Jim!"
     This rage in myself personally was not brought out until yesterday while I was walking to church. You should know that on Friday, I got a nice leather jacket from ANGL for about half off the original price. It's nice and spiffy and when I went to class today wearing it along with my boots, I'm confident that my professors automatically assumed I am going to end up being the delinquent of their classes.
     But, pulling back on track here, I'm walking to church yesterday morning and I think to myself, "Hey, I don't want to carry my phone any more, I should put it in my pocket." So I moved to slip it in, but it just slid right over. It took me about three more attempts to realize that my jacket had fake pockets.
     I see what you're doing here, clothing companies. Not stop collaborating with handbag companies and start giving me some real pockets.

Calm

     As mentioned in the blog post entitled "About the Author," I used to be known as the "Waterproof Machine" and I feel sorry for not elaborating on it further. Because it was fairly entertaining, the way it came about. Correct me if I'm wrong, but the term was coined by the illustrious Hannah Chase, my best friend and partner in crime, and it sorta carried on to other people. Long story short, I was the rock. I played water polo, and, to be blunt about it: I was downright scary. I'm still not entirely sure how I managed to have friends with the level of intensity I functioned at.
      And then it stopped. I think it was after I helped a close friend through a particularly rough patch in her life. I was forced to set everything else aside and put her first. After that, it just stopped. I mean, don't get me wrong, I was still regarded as "intimidating" by the general population, but at least I had learned how to control myself to a certain extent.
     And so, I learned how to cry.
     Emotion is something that has never come easy for me. I have the physical pain tolerance of a rock (i.e. I generally don't feel pain). So if I cried, then something was seriously wrong. And the same thing can be said about me today.
     But I'm not here to talk about my feelings. Today I'm here to talk about calm, specifically, the calm that comes after a storm.
     People are always talking about the calm that comes before a storm. Usually it is accompanied by a heightened awareness of everything around oneself, dilated pupils, and increased heart rate. Believe me, I know. I've been in enough fights during water polo games to last me the rest of my life. But because the calm before the storm is so much more... common, it's easier to explain. Everyone experiences the same thing. So, that is why the calm after the storm is brushed over. Sure, in the case of actual storms, coverage is given for days, weeks, and sometimes even months after the event, but what do people have to say on it?
     That's where things get complicated. Everyone explains the calm after the storm differently. Most say it is a peaceful feeling, but for some it is still a tumultuous experience. There seems to be many conflicting feelings that comes after a physically/spiritually/emotionally demanding experience.
     Take my own experience for instance. On Friday night I said goodbye to my sister before she leaves for her mission for 18 months. And I'm going to break it down.

     The calm before the Storm: Standing there and talking to her before the moment actually came.
     The Storm: The actual saying of the word "Goodbye".
     The calm after the Storm: In this specific situation, finally going to sleep after packing my things to head up to college.

     If you've ever seen the footage of a city in the aftermath of a hurricane, you know about the destruction it leaves behind. But think about it, there's a certain raw beauty that comes with it, isn't there. And that's why I appreciate the calm after a storm so much. I woke up on Saturday morning at 4:30 AM after crying myself to sleep to drive down to Los Angeles to fly back to Rexburg for spring semester. When I looked at myself in the mirror, my eyes were red and puffy and gross, but my green eyes stood out more than I've ever seen. Raw beauty.
   Longer story shorter: Beauty is a pretty flippin' awesome thing.

Knowledge and Wisdom

          “He who learns must suffer. And even in our sleep pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God.”
                     --Aeschylus

          It is interesting to think about what the difference is when it comes to knowledge and wisdom and how it is acquired. Some people see no direct correlation between the two, but in fact, they fail to see that they are in fact very different. Knowledge is something that everyone has. We’ve all been to school. We all know how to add two plus two and how to put one word in front of the other to form an essay about whether or not global warming is really a conflict or if it is jut a pattern of nature, but wisdom is something that comes to us only if we really truly want it. We are only as wise as we allow ourselves to become.
          In this quote, Aeschylus focuses only on gaining wisdom from God, but it is impossible to discuss exactly what wisdom is until we define what it is in accordance to knowledge. According to the dictionary, wisdom is more about understanding. The answer to what knowledge is right in the word. It is knowing. We know a great many things, but do we understand them? Many people like to believe that they understand what they know, and that is when we need to start asking the questions “how do you know that?”
          So, how is wisdom acquired? It most certainly isn’t something one can learn in the classroom. That is learning. Acquiring wisdom comes after learning. We must have the diligence and desire to seek out the truth of what it is we are learning in our college careers. Wisdom is taking what we have learned and applying it to our lives. For instance, in every single math class I have taken throughout high school I was promised that I would be able to take what I had learned and apply it to my life in the future. Years have passed, and I have yet to find a situation where I can use factoring polynomials into my every day activities. Maybe I am not looking hard enough, or maybe the situations have not found me yet, but needless to say, I feel cheated. 

          So, when I walked into the Math 108 class at the start of the semester and I was told with confidence by my professor that I would be able to apply what I learned in this specific class into my life, I was skeptical. But, by the time we finished our second unit, which covered finances, I realized that he was right. Of course I am going to be able to use mortgage formulas and loan payment equations later on. Maybe not now, because I am not married nor do I have children, but the day will come when I will use that and I will be grateful that Brigham Young University at Idaho forced me to take that class.
          In the quote above, it mentions that wisdom can come to us by the “awful grace of God.” It’s a bit of a contradicting statement, isn’t it? Many people view the grace of God as something that is all good, the one thing that makes up for our shortcomings in our earthly lives and, if we have done all that we can do, will allow us into paradise where we will rest until the Second Coming. It is my own humble opinion that the grace of God is how we gain wisdom. We are given trials, and we learn from them, and we gain wisdom because through our trials (in my case, at least) we gain a better understanding about some aspect of life, whether it be the age old question of “why do bad things happen to good people?” or something as simple as “Is the Book of Mormon really another testament of Jesus Christ?”
          “He who learns must suffer…” Aeschylus makes it seem as if learning is a painful process. And in a way, it is. It has been said that knowledge is power, and so then it comes down to us how we use that knowledge. We can let it sit in the back of our brains, never to be used again, or we can develop it even more and turn it into a weapon of mass destruction. But this can be a painful process, because we grow along with our knowledge until it becomes wisdom.
          Wisdom can also be considered experience; and through trials, we gain experience. In D&C 122: 7, one of my favorite scriptures, it reads:

           

7. And if that shouldst be cast into the pit, or into the hands of murderers, and the sentence of death passed upon thee; if thou be cast into the deep; if the billowing surge conspire against thee; if fierce winds become thine enemy; if the heavens gather blackness, and all the elements combine to hedge up the way; and above all, if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know though, my son, that all these things shall give the experience, and shall be for thy good.

          Now, setting aside the fact that any of us will end up in jail for being a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, this scripture does a nice job of explaining exactly how the acquisition of wisdom can be such a hard thing, but, when it finally happens, it is a great reward. On the flipside, however, there is no end to gaining wisdom. There may come a day where everyone understands the truths we have worked so hard to comprehend, and then that wisdom is downgraded back to knowledge. And then we must be willing to take the extra step forward to pick out some other hidden truth, in order to gain more wisdom.

          I am in no way, shape, or form, claiming to have more wisdom than anyone else on this planet. All I am trying to do is convey what wisdom might be based on the knowledge I had acquired of the past few years. This is just my humble view on the matter. It is easy for us to get caught up in the debate as we try to determine where exactly that line that divides knowledge and wisdom really is, whether we are aware of it or not. So, what needs to happen is that people need to stop conforming, they need to go out in the world and discover it for themselves, experience a little pain else we don’t know what life really can be. Suffer for that wisdom, and rejoice when it comes to you. We need to challenge ourselves. How else are we going to discover what are limits really are? Do not settle for plain knowledge that everyone can receive through a decent education. Teach yourself. Gain wisdom.

In Which I Assert Myself as Head of the Pack

          For those who don't know (though you should because it was mentioned in my last entry), I play water polo. Been playing since 6th grade, so I guess one could go so far as to say I have a little experience in the field. However, during my senior year of high school, I unfortunately tore a tendon in my shoulder and was rendered incapable of playing for almost the entire season. And lemme tell you that sitting on the bench for countless games and entire tournaments has its effects on the brain. Yeah, it sucks.

            Now, after almost a full year of being away from the water, I took up swimming again in my free time to get myself back in shape. On Monday, I went to the on campus pool we have here at around 8:30 PM to swim for about an hour. At about nine, some guys came in and started putting water polo cages into the pool. When I asked what was going on, I was informed that every Monday, at 10, a group of people come in to play polo.

            And obviously, I let my curiosity get the best of me. I wasn't sure if the people that came in really had any experience or if it was just a "learn as you go" type of thing, so I stuck around to see who would show up. I threw a ball for the first time, and when I started practicing my shooting, something like this went down.

            ME: Can I practice shooting on you for a little bit?

            GOALIE: Sure go ahead.

            The first shot I took, the ball bounced off the crossbar, which really didn't come as a surprise given it's been a long time since I've handled a water polo ball. So, a few minutes later, I found my groove.

            ME: Sorry, it's been a long time since I've played.

            GOALIE: Stop shooting so hard, you're scaring me!

            I'm not kidding he actually said that.

            I should also have my readers know that there were only two girls there, me and another, just to throw some things into perspective. So, we played some three on three, and, long story short, I quickly gained the respect of the people who have been coming every week. Some of these people are even a few years older than I am, and this is only my first semester of college.

            When we were done, we said our goodbyes, and as I walked by two of the guys, I overheard this conversation.

            GUY 1: You coming back next week?

            ME: Yeah probably.

            GUY 1: Awesome, see you then.

            ME: Later.

            GUY 2: Dude she's got a beastly shot.

            GUY 1: I know, I'd hate to be a goalie playing against her.

            Well, it's always nice to know that I have the ability to command the respect of regulars when it's only my first day.

About the Author

If the books I am lucky enough to publish have enough room in the “About the Author” section, then I would like for the publishers to put this in, because… well I said so. And I guess it would be cool for my readers to know me on an emotional level

It's kind of funny, you can determine so much about a person about how they introduce themselves. I've grown up around people who like to joke around by saying "Hi, my name is (your name here) and I enjoy long walks on the beach."

Hi, my name is Miranda Pearl Day and I don't enjoy long walks on the beach. I enjoy riding motorcycles, skiing, playing water polo, jumping off tall things, shooting guns, and setting fire to things.

Well now that we've got that out of the way.

As a literally starving college student (just kidding I have some pie in the microwave) with nothing better to do OH LOOK AT ME I'M STARTING A BLOG.

A note to publishers, that previous statement will be fixed to say something along the lines of HEY LOOK AT ME I'M WRITING BOOKS.

So, pulling back on on track, hi how are you? Wait this is about me telling you about me. You'd probably look like an idiot talking to a computer screen about your life story so I'm going to save you that embarrassment. Stop talking.

Okay are you quiet now?

Good.

I was born in a town none of you have probably ever heard of, raised in the beautiful Santa Barbara, California, one thing led to another, and now I'm a Freshman at BYU-Idaho studying psychology with the hopes of becoming a high school psychologist.

My personality is about as sporadic as my music taste. One moment I'm listening to Helen Jane Long, the next, some wild hardstyle techno will start playing. So basically, I can range from I'm perfectly content sitting at home alone with a notebook and a cup of tea to hey let's go out and blow things up maybe we'll meet some boys?????

This is also why I've dubbed my new nickname to be Bombshell Blonde. It's a song, I'm not going to post a link because you're a big kid and you can look it up all by yourself you go I'm so proud of you look at you go.

I've often been referred to as a "waterproof machine" (term coined by best friend whom I met in the showers). But then I grew out of that, and now I cry at really stupid things.

There are only four things on this planet that can make me weep like a baby, and they are:

Babies

Supernatural

John Green

Jeremy Renner

Yes. I said it. I am a Jeremy Renner addict.

I'm a weirdo. Yup. Just gonna throw that one out there to. Don't ask me to explain why. Is there really a definition to weird? I'll let you figure that out by yourselves.

Hi, I'm Miranda Day, how are you?