Sometimes I Complain

On this the last day of classes, I decided to drive my car since it was freezing outside. In order to do so, I had to get rid of the ice on my windshield, but my scraper fell apart so I threw warm water on it. This worked like a charm... until the warm water subsequently froze on my windshield. It was 6 degrees outside. And my house is drafty...
It's now been over a week and a half since Waylon was supposed to be replaced with the bridge. Apparently, the crowns haven't come in yet. Every day they say they will be delivered, but still they do not come! I dare not leave this place... I am dangerous; more dangerous than any wild animal stalking its prey!
It's from a musical.
Anyways, big news but not so big: earlier this week I turned in an application to do that which I must do, even if I don't particularly enjoy it: officiate intramural sports. On Monday, I went in for an interview. Many familiar faces... they told me I'd receive notification via e-mail on Wednesday on whether or not I'm in. It's Thursday, and no word.
As I was walking back from the interview, I ran into this girl that invited me to come play racquetball Wednesday morning. I was so excited that I forgot to mention to her that I had an important class at that time in which the final would be discussed. Mercifully, the class ended early, so I still had time to get my stuff and see if she was there. I rushed home and threw my racquetball stuff in the car, and then drove to campus. Now, driving to campus anywhere between 9 a.m. and 2 p.m. is always a bad idea. Foiled by parking again! After 20 minutes of fruitless searching for a vacancy anywhere on campus, I threw in the towel.
After all this, I am stuck wondering why my life is kind of like a sitcom, where I am a minor comic relief character that never progresses because it would ruin a whole string of running jokes.
On a positive note, Tuesday night was a lot of fun. You guessed it, country dancing again, and not just the club night type. I mean, this was a big shindig like the dance labs of yesteryears where you get extra credit for bringing refreshments. I kind of forgot about the whole refreshments thing, but luckily I had an unopened box of Mini-Spooners that actually serves as great finger food, but is more likely to get overlooked in the presence of sugar cookies and salty chips. And indeed, it was overlooked--extra credit and I still have that unopened box of Mini-Spooners. The dancing was a lot of fun too, my Canadian cowboy instructor was the Dj, and I almost died during the line dances because I was feeling light-headed after selling plasma earlier in the day.
So now I am here home alone, as my roommates study fervently for finals. I am done with class and homework, and I have only two finals (one of which is a take-home essay type, my favorite!) and a benchmark on Tuesday. What then? Well, eventually I'll be back to say howdy to the good weather and good cookin'.
Maybe I could find a girl to bring home in, what, ten days? Snicker...

A Dangerous Past Time

I'm afraid I've been thinking...
I wear the same green fleece, pants, and tennis shoes to school every day. People must think I never change clothes.
Then, today I had to sneeze so I lifted my sleeve to sneeze into it and ended up punching myself in the nose instead. Haha!
At the end of the week, the high for Provo is 30, and the low is 8. That's 8, period. Combine this weather with the sparks that fly every time I touch my car door, and Utah is not a very likable place. Oh well, give me two more weeks and I will retire to a warmer and less static-y environment. For a time...

Danger: Opinion Ensuing!

You know, I love sports. I really do. Few things in this life get me more exciting than the upcoming Turkey Bowl at our house, or an intramural basketball game, or just the usual pick-up games on Tuesday nights, or volleyball class at 8 o'clock in the morning...

I know what you're thinking: "Wow, Todd. You really ought to get out more... or maybe kiss a girl sometime." True.

But now is a time for reflection for me. As much as I love to play sports, watching them is really going down-hill. Although the win tonight was magical over Utah, I wonder what life would have been like had the game gone awry like last year... oh that terrible feeling of bitter irony, knowing how much enthusiasm was replaced by disappointment and sullen resentment since that historic win over Oklahoma (which lost its historic-ness as the season progressed and OK faltered). Yet, we did win, and as wonderful and elating as sweet vengeance is, I find it a bit tarnished by the ensuing comments of Max Hall.

"I don't like Utah. In fact, I hate them. I hate everything about them. I hate their program, their fans. I hate everything," Hall said. "It felt really good to send those guys home.... I think the whole university and their fans and the organization is classless. They threw beer on my family and stuff last year and did a whole bunch of nasty things. I don't respect them and they deserved to lose."

You know, my first reaction to seeing this quote was satisfaction. Hoorah, somebody agrees with me! Here we have evidence supporting my claims that Salt Lake is the city of abominable fans. And Max is right. Utah was classless, from what stories I heard of my BYU fan aquaintances that attended the game last year.

But then I remembered watching the game and thinking to myself, "I'm kind of glad I'm not there." The U of U is not alone in its classlessness. I find that fans everywhere, more than anything else, are angry, egotistical, and unrestrained. Wow, I sound really snooty and high-nosed here, but let me assure you, I AM NO EXCEPTION. I felt just as angry when the officials called the ball dead after BYU clearly recovered an obvious fumble (turns out they blew the play dead because the runners helmet came off and they were concerned for his safety), I just wasn't as verbal about it, but I would have been had I been surrounded by other outrageously boisterous fans. I've been an official before, too, and I know what it's like to be the object of hatred of everyone paying attention to your game. Perhaps that is why I am writing this blog.

Here's a shout out to "Bob Smith", the guy who called me a puss. You made this ranting possible. And here's another to my high-school basketball coach, Shannon Taylor. If I ever see you again, I might just kick you in the groonies. Shannon... snicker.

So, I know it's wishful thinking to say the world should embrace sports as what they were meant to be: recreational and friendly fun. Not gonna happen in our competitive world. Fans and players alike will go on hating people that they have never met apart from wearing a rival's uniform, and I will take all the absurdity into account before I drop another hundred-some odd bones on next year's All-sport pass, cause I probably ain't graduating anytime soon.

For what it's worth, Todd Martin. Good day.

The Stache Strikes Again!

So I asked out this girl the other day, and she was like, "I don't go out with pedophiles"*. Must be the stache.
I played a five dollar game of basketball yesterday, and realized how much I am going to miss playing with my brothers because I get in too late on Tuesday and because Jon will be in Utah. I love basketball! I am already implementing it into my birthday party for next year.
P.S. It was a pick up game, and I introduced myself as Todd, but they all called me Stache.
NNNAAAACHOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

*Todd is not a pedophile, in fact the girl didn't even say this. She was busy or something, but I mostly stopped listening when she started with 'Satruday is really packed'.

This is My Only Number

This week felt really really social-ish. Wanna know why? Too bad...
Let's just say that on Monday I won a pony, Tuesday I was gone country, Wednesday I went to a thirty minute dance party, Thursday I went on a ward temple trip, Friday I played racquetball and beat a girl (two out of three games), and Saturday was yesterday where I went to DanceSport.
By the way, I am really consistent in this DanceSport thing. I was one round away from making the quarterfinals in Country Swing. It may sound impressive, but I really only made it to the second round again. That's the third time.
So there's a lot more to these stories, but I've got two words for you... and it's the same two words I tell the ladies that want me to shave the stache; "Too bad".
Or you could just talk to me in real life, if you gots the time.

Two Good Things in One

The voice of Tim Curry on the show Freakazoid! There is no cure for this awesomeness!

Life's Recurring Themes

I would have named this post "Deja Vu All Over Again" in a tribute to Yogi Berra, but I've already used that title. Yet another of life's recurring themes.
The real pickle deal here started the other day when I was brushing my teeth... and Waylon (that's the name of that fickle fake tooth that often falls out of my mouth) starts moving again. I'm thinking, "Great, here we go again". I knew Waylon's days were numbered, and this knowledge seemed to wrack my sleep with unspeakable nightmares. Sometimes I take these late afternoon naps, and every one I took for the last three days was accompanied by nightmares of Waylon falling out. I'm not kidding! Today's was particularly nasty: I remember thinking in the dream that without that tooth and with this mustache, I pretty much qualified for the ugliest person on earth (it's only what I thought in the dream, it's not a reflection of what I think in real life). With that revelation, I sat down on the ground, in my dream, and cried. Do you know what it's like to cry in your dreams? You can feel the despair, the depression, the dry-throat, sobbing, emotion-stuffed worst-day-of-your-life feeling in your sleep! I know I certainly did!
Then I woke up from my nap and not two hours later, the so-called "permanent" fell out when I was eating a sandwich. I sat down and cried. Not really... but I felt like it.
I AM THE UGLIEST MAN TO EVER WEAR PANTS UPON HIS HEAD AFTER AN EFY DEVOTIONAL! Let the world know it!
Such is life.
Here's something to cheer you up as you are certainly drying your tears from this downer: