Do as the Romans do . . .

I decided to take a half hour break after studying and work, and sat down to watch the end of "7 Brides for 7 Brothers." This is possibly one of my favorite musicals of all time which is probably why I've been so blinded to the ridiculousness of the story. I realize the six brothers had the whole dancing and ruggedness going for them, but if anyone decides to kidnap me and take me to a cabin in the middle of nowhere to marry me, i will kick their trash. However, i might break into song about being a June bride but I would have the decency to put clothes on because dancing in your underwear and shoes is just awkward. A huge fashion no-no. But I choose to overlook the felony and bad fashion because they conclude the musical with the only thing that makes sense - a shot gun wedding. Because apparently the only way to reward six grown men who kidnap your daughters and almost kill them in a snow land slide is obviously a shot gun wedding. Forget about actually checking if there are really seven babies in the house. Just hold a wedding on the spot because every baby needs a father even if the father is a singing, dancing, kidnapping lunatic.

Moral of the story: Don't ever name your daughter Dorcas unless you're willing to pay for her therapy three times a week.

White Chocolate

Imagine a skinny, little white girl running across campus last night at 11 pm. Not only that, but she was running in flip flops in a blizzard. Do you have the image in your head? Are you wondering what would have brought on such a outward display of nerdiness? Well, it was a result of a poorly misguided girl infected with procrastinate, something quite similar to kryptonite (shoutout to al's blog).
Anyways, it all started earlier that day when this girl decided to sleep in until 9. Not only that, but when she got to school, she decided it was wise to put off doing her five-page report that was due that night to play with wistie. (holler to wistie! thanks for setting up my blog). She decided that she wanted a break. Nay, she deserved a break after everything thing she had gone through the night/week before. So she set up her blog and ate lunch with wistie for three hours because this girl thought that she could finish her report after work. If her grandfather were here, he would say, "That's what you get for doin' your own thinkin'!"
Anyways, so she went to work and had to stay two hours after because there was an order for 400 pork balls the next day. What are pork balls, you might ask. . . well, they're spherish like sausage and eggs mixed together that take form to look and smell like vomit. So naturally she, and her coworkers, quickly nicknamed the pork balls to puke balls and spent the next two hours making them.
After work, this girl started work on her report on media effects on society. She worked and worked and then finally finished seven minutes to 11 pm aka the time it was due. This brings us to the beginning of our blog. This girl ran to make it to the Brimhall building before it would close. She was wearing her brown sweatshirt that said "hershey's milk chocolate" but by the time she made it across the campus, it was completely white with snow. The happy end to this story is that she did indeed make it to the Brimhall building by 10:58 pm and turned in her communications paper. While walking home that night, completely alone, bitterly cold, and slightly frost bitten; she entered her apartment and looked down at her sweatshirt only to realize she looked like white chocolate. She laughed pitifully and then went to bed. the end.

Moral of the story: don't write an entire story in third person. it's just annoying and creepy.

el primero

this is nori's first blog! but actually, nori isn't writing it. wistie is. that's because wistie is such a good friend. wistie made nori get a blog because wistie would like to read nori's ramblings because nori is a funny girl. stay tuned, hopefully she'll actually blog. 

the end