Okay, world. Look who's back. Me. Senorita Stacy. And get this. I am now twenty as of yesterday. The only thing I've done for the past two days is reminisce on when I was a teenager, so very long ago. So many fond memories of my childhood/teenagehood (which, for the record, is definitely not a word), I don't even know where to begin. In fact, I don't even think I'll bother with that right now...but let me tell you, there are a lot of good treasures down that road.
So, my roommates and I had a little sleepover shin-dig on Tuesday and we went out to dinner to celebrate my journey into the twenties. We went to this little place called Doug and Emmy's. Unique little place. We got to sit at the circular table, although, let's be honest, we could have had any seat in the joint (I hope you're catching my drift as to how many people were there). One of the ladies that worked there was casually vacuuming while we were waiting for our food. It was good food though, and they make giant scones. Let me tell you about such the fun game we played, or at least attempted to play while we waited for our food. It was a sort of Go Fish/Old Maid game. For cards we used every I.D card we had, which for some of us--including me--went as far back as the seventh grade. Oh man, what a tragic-looking 13-year-old I was, let me tell you. I still remember that day. I totally panicked because I had forgotten that it was picture day. So I attempted to do something with my hair--bad idea. Frizz to the max. Next, there are the adorably huge eyebrows. And then to my personal favorite, the shirt. I still can't believe I did this. Naturally I'm wearing a blue shirt that reads "Princess" in sequins. Adorable, really. And if I remember correctly, I'm wearing these bright yellow track pants. Seriously, how did I ever make it out of the house? Why did I not have all the boyfriends all the days of my life?
Okay, enough of that. I would now like to share an experience that I had a few days ago, probably a week ago, in the Tanner Building. I was on the bottom floor, about to take the stairs all the way to the top. Unfortunately, I got stuck behind some guy who seriously needed some fashion help. His pants were seriously so low. Completely below his bootay. I could have sworn that was supposed to end in high school. I could have sworn that was some after-graduation for boys. "Alright, boys. Now that you have officially graduated from high school, you no longer need to wear your pants at your ankles. Okay, I now send you out into the world to fulfill your every dream." Apparently not, because somehow this guy got all the way through high school, on a mission (judging by the beautiful sight I had the pleasure of seeing), and into the business school. Houston, we have a problem. Unbelievable (I have not clue why this is being underlined. I can't figure out how to fix it). I was right behind (no pun intended) him. What was I supposed to do? Close my eyes? I think not. That would have resulted in my face landing into that darling man's booty booty, which--I'll be completely honest--was probably the last thing I wanted to do. P.S., let me add to this image. I was about two or three steps behind him, making it so my face was all up in that rear. Uncalled for. So my only option was to casually walk behind him up 75954 flights of stairs, huffing and puffing by the time I got to the top. Really enjoyable.
Oh, okay. That brings me to my next topic of casual tea party conversation topics. Stairs. 378780 stairs to get up to campus. 3289 stairs to get to the bottom of the Tanner Building. 78723 stairs down to the RB. 437289 to get to the bottom of the library. SIDE NOTE: I'd like to make a shout-out, or at least call out all the fat people. Clearly, BYU thinks we're all too fat, and therefore puts in 54872504780 stairs. If you could all just hurry up and drop the extra 264786 pounds, maybe BYU will consider putting escalators. Just a thought. END SIDE NOTE. (That's like "end quote," except it's "end side note.") You would think that since I have to use at least three sets of these stairs everyday, I would be in pretty good shape by now. But no. Every single time I get to the top, I'm seriously about to blow a house down, what with all the huffing and puffing. I then nonchalantly proceed to pretend like it was no big deal, and do that weird thing to make my breathing pattern seem completely normal. "Oh, you're tired? That's weird. I feel fine. 432978 flights of stairs have got nothin' on me. What's that? You want to go run up and down them again? Sure, sure, why not? I'm so in shape. Why is your breathing so labored?" RIDICULOUS, people. Absolutely ridiculous. Oh, I promise this is the last thing I'll talk about. Who in their right mind would talk on their phone while walking up the stairs? Are you serious? "Hey, Stacy? Did you just finish running a mile? You sound a little out of breath?" "What? Me? No, no, no. Do I sound out of breath? That's weird, I'm breathing perfectly normal. It's not like I'm walking up 683 flights of stairs or anything." Think about that one, folks. Just think about it.
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