Science Quote of the Day

WARNING: Those of you who are not biologists may not find this quote funny. It might seem even a little bit sketchy. But I laughed really hard.

Dr. C. Riley Nelson (my entomology professor): "When you smell a flower, you are putting the sex organs of another organism right next to your nose."

Creatures of Habit

Humans are creatures of habit. We do things certain ways because we are used to it. I am an extreme example of this. I am a control freak, and as such, my life schedule is extremely organized. I wake-up at a certain time; I eat at certain times; classes and work occupy certain hours; I go to bed at a certain time. You mess with the method, and you mess with me. You disrupt my pattern, and I freak out. Sad, but true.

These past couple of months have been voyages of self-discovery. I have seen myself from an entirely new light. Others have probably seen it for years, but I am just seeing myself for the first time. I am introverted--I'd rather stay in my room than socialize; I'm a control freak--I need to feel in control in my life; the list goes on. Thank goodness I have my whole life to figure myself out.

My New Crazy Roommate

I got two new roommates this Saturday. Hooray! At least it's not just me and turned-psychotic-Ann anymore. Anywho, I dub these new roommates with the pseudonyms of Eve and Dory. Eve is great. Sweet, friendly, but quiet when she needs to be. She even studies in the evening. It's fantastic.

Dory is also great, if not a bit odd. When we met on Saturday, she said, "Hi. I'm Dory. What's your name?"

"I'm Haylee," I smiled. She put out her arms to give me a hug. Okay. I'm cool with hugs. Great.

We proceeded to have a conversation, but about 10 minutes later she paused for a few seconds and then said, "Hi. I'm Dory. What's your name?"

I stood silent. What the? She already asked me this. We've been through this already. She's crazy! "I'm Haylee," I smiled again. This time she shook my hand.

Hence the name Dory.

Good times, good times.

Come back when you're not 17

I was driving home tonight in my friend Cindy's big, blue van. Cindy and my sister McKell were in tow. We were driving along 8th north in Orem when this jeep pulled along side us. Inside were two young men. Young men. Probably 17 or 18. They waved, I waved back and grimaced.

"We're going to Capella's," one remarked.

"That's great," I smiled, trying to contain my laughter. Dude, I'm like way too old for you. Come back when you're not 17.

I zoomed ahead, they drove on, I fell back, they seemed to slow down. And we were right next to them at every stop light. They were trying to get our attention, and the three of us were laughing our heads off. Imagine, 17 year old boys hitting on two 21-year-olds and one little sister.

"We're going to Capella's," they said at their next approach.

I nodded and slowed down for the light. As we got started back up again, I wanted to know how old they were. McKell was going to ask, but the light changed and so she didn't get the chance. But I did at the next light.

"Hey, guys, how old are you?" I tried to sound cool and hip, but it might not have worked.

They looked at each other, and then the little one said, "Twenty."

Thank goodness I didn't scoff right there in front of him. I smiled and laughed, "I am way too old for you."

"What . . . why . . . how old are you?" little guy stuttered, knowing he was caught.

"Twenty-one," I laughed as I pulled away and left the little jeep in the dust.

I would usually be ecstatic to be hit on, but why is it that when I get hit on, it is by little 17-year-olds?

Life sure is ironic sometimes.

It's Fun to Feel Wanted

Dr. Gardner says he doesn't know what he'll do when I graduate and leave. It makes me feel needed and useful and wanted.

But I never knew how much my skills were in demand until today. I took molecular biology this past winter semester, and I did well (translation=I got an A). I talked to the professor, Dr. Bridgewater, a couple times through the semester, and we got to know a little bit about each other. She went to American Fork High School and had Mr. Reese, just like me. She sent out an email a few days ago asking for TAs for the class for this semester. I ignored it because I already have a TA job with Dr. Gardner. I got a call about 10:30 this morning, and I didn't recognize the number. It was a 422 number, so I knew it was from on campus. I answered, and it was Dr. Bridgewater. She asked if I had gotten the email about TA-ing, and she asked if I was able and interested. She was calling me to be a TA. I felt very honored and very wanted, but I had to say no. But it was fun knowing a professor on campus was asking me, little lowly Haylee, to TA a class.

It makes me smile. =)

To Sum Up LA

I learned a lot about myself through the whole LA experience. I learned I am a big baby. I cannot function without someone there to lead and guide me. I learned the Gospel is a huge part of my life and is weaved through every hour and minute of my day. It was hard not to be able to be around people with whom I could discuss the Gospel freely and openly.

All in all, it was a good experience. I needed it. I needed to go through the experience for myself. I am going to be alone during a lot of the next years of my life, and this was just a tiny peek at it.

I'm just glad I'm home. =)

Getting Home (LA Story #3)

The shuttle dropped me off at the Delta terminal, and I breathed a big sigh of relief. I was almost home. Almost. I just had to make it through LAX.

I was tired and somewhat confused, so I decided to use the sky cap. I walked to the desk which read, "Delta Song." I was definitely not on a "Delta Song" flight, but I decided to try it anyway. A man with a badge and hat came around to me and asked, "What can I do for you?"

"I'm not on a 'Delta Song' flight, but can I still use this station?" I inquired, feeling tired.

"What do you mean you're not on a 'Delta Song' flight?" he inquired back, tipping his head to one side and looking at me as if I were an idiot.

"Um, I'm not on a 'Delta Song' flight but I'm . . ."

He cut me off, "What's your song? What's your song?"

I looked at him all confused. I was trying to hold myself together. "Um, I don't know . . ."

"You don't know what airline you're on?" he scoffed, looking at me.

"I'm on Delta," I choked, my voice laden with tears. The accumulation of lack of sleep, Bob and Ange, and my insecurity had all taken their toll. I was about to cry.

The man softened. I then knew he had been joking with me the whole time, but I couldn't detect it. "It's alright, sweetheart, it's alright. I'll take care of you." He did take care of everything, and even took me to the first of the line to get my bag x-rayed. "You'll be alright, sweetheart. There you go. Have a nice day."

I walked through security and to my gate. I didn't have a seat assignment, so I went to the desk to check in. "Come back in a few minutes," the lady at the desk responded, not even looking at me.

What did that mean? Panic raced through my irrational head. Did I not have a seat? Frantically I called home. As soon as I heard my father's voice, I fell apart. There I was, standing in the middle of LAX sobbing. I couldn't stop. My father tried to talk to me, tried to tell me not to cry, but I couldn't control my emotions. He finally talked some sense of logic into my head, and I walked into the bathroom and calmed down. I walked back to the desk, got my seat assignment (I think the desk lady took pity on me), and I boarded the plane.

The plane finally landed in SLC, and I raced to get my baggage and to see my dad. I felt a giant burden lifted from my shoulders as I collapsed in the car and let him take care of everything else.

The Conference (LA Story #2)

I walked to the check-in desk at the hotel and asked if Ange Laste had checked in already. She was my roommate from the U of U, and we had arranged to stay together. I got a friendly, "No she hasn't," and then I proceeded to panic. There I was, standing in the middle of some hotel with tons of luggage around me with no hotel room. Breathe, Haylee. Just call her. I pulled my cell phone out, located her number, and waited.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Ange?"

"Yeah."

"This is Haylee Ferguson from BYU. Are you here at the hotel yet? Have you checked in yet?"

"I'm here, but I haven't checked in. I'm in the lobby on my laptop. Just come find me."

"Okay."

I walked into the lobby and saw three girls with laptops. Excellent. After asking the two girls closest to me and receiving both negative answers and weird looks, I proceeded to the last girl.

"Ange?"

"Hi!" She turned to me, and I posted a smile on my face. She was friendly, we chit-chatted, and we finally checked in and went to our rooms.

As the days went on, I realized that Ange is one of those types of girls that I strongly dislike. Loud, obnoxious, attention-wanting, flirtaceous beyond all reason. How did I find this out? Ah, that is where Bob comes in.

Bob is the president of the club I'm in at BYU. He was a seemingly nice guy with lots of ambition. I was excited to be at the conference with Bob so we could work hard on getting the club at BYU stronger and more involved. I was wanting it to be a day and a half of hard work.

Come to find out, Bob and Ange seemed to hit it off pretty well. That was the end of "Me and Bob" conference time. 'Twas the beginning of "Gross and disgusting Bob and Ange Flirt-Fest Time." You know those type of people who are obviously flirting with each other but won't let up? You know those type of people who are rude to and ignore the rest of the world? Yeah? That was Bob and Ange. It pretty much made me mad. I was trying to learn concepts and processes from the meetings that would help the club on campus, but I didn't have a willing partner.

I would have had a perfectly miserable time if it weren't for Mike and Chad from USU. They were hilarious. We hung out Friday night at Santa Monica Pier. Mike was married, headed to law school, and Chad seemed to be stoned for most of the trip, but boy were they fun! When there is no possibility of me being attracted to a guy or when there is an unspoken understanding that nothing romantic will ever happen, I am cool as a cucumber around guys. And I was cool as a cucumber around Mike and Chad. We laughed, we played on the beach, and we talked. It was great. Chad, in fact, said the quote of the trip: Men need to be stylish, yet functional.

But with the accumulation of the Bob and Ange affair, my lack of sleep, and being away from home, I was very grateful to wave goodbye to Chad and Mike and head to the airport.

Getting to LA (LA Story #1)

As I approached the Salt Lake airport, I could feel my heart leap in my chest. My breathing quickened, and my palms began to sweat. Mom drove me up to the Delta terminal, and as soon as I looked at her, I burst into tears. She burst into tears as well, and there we sat for about 30 seconds, sobbing together.

"Do you want me to come in there with you?" she finally managed to say.

"No," I sobbed, throwing my bag over my shoulder. I needed to do this by myself. It took all the strength I had to stop crying and open the door. I took my suitcase, and without looking at my mother, I shut the door and quickly walked up to the sky cap. Thankfully, he took care of everything because I was in no state to do anything myself.

I walked into the airport, carefully followed the signs to the security gate, passed through security, and walked to my gate. After checking to make sure I was at the right gate and the gate number hadn't changed, I called my mom to tell her I made it okay. After that, I called my dad to tell him I made it okay. I got a bagel, a Time magazine (with super cool articles about evolution), and read.

I finally boarded the plane. A woman sat next to me, and I hoped she wouldn't want to talk the whole flight. I needed to find my zen state and sanity. My hopes were crushed as she started talking with me. I decided I needed to be nice and happy, and so I chatted with her sporadically for most of the flight.

The flight was uneventful, and I felt my chest tighten yet again as we pulled up to the gate at LAX. The woman (I didn't ever catch her name) must have noticed my apprehension and said, "I'll walk with you to get your baggage. I've been to LAX before, and I can help you out."

I was taken aback. "Thank you!" I said to her. I mumbled a silent prayer of thanks.

So, we walked to the baggage claim together. She patiently waited with me until the bags started coming out, and then she said, "Looks like you're okay now. Have fun in LA!"

"Thank you so much! I will. You have fun as well." And then she disappeared into the crowd. Heaven bless the wonderful lady! She was amazing, and I hope she finds happiness in life.

After securing my bag, I asked an airport person where to catch the shuttle to the hotel. I wobbled to the shuttle stop, somehow knew who to talk to, and got on a shuttle. After squeezing my way into the very back, some guy remarked, "You must be a Golden Key member, too. I can tell by the shuttle coupon in your hand."

"Yes, I am," I smiled, sitting down next to him. "I assume you are as well?"

"Yes," he smiled back, "I'm Chris."

We shook hands. "Hi, I'm Haylee."

Chris (pre-med at UC Berkeley!) and I talked for the whole time to the hotel. It was mostly small talk, but I was glad to know I wasn't alone. We arrived at the hotel, I paid the shuttle driver, and I headed to the front desk to check in. I was there, I was safe, and there was more to come.

And there is more to come. More stories from LA soon!

Guess What?

Hooray! I got an A in physics!

I'm in LA right now . . . more stories later!

Don't talk to me--it's finals time.

Enough said.

Little Happy Things in Life

One little happy thing in life is a brand new tube of mascara. The first sweep across my eyelashes with the brush is beautiful!

The Inner Battle

No worries, this post is not as serious as the title might sound. But, alas, I have been struggling with some conflicting feelings, and I would like to have a forum of thoughts with all of you.

Sometimes I like to be girly. I like to have the anticipation of going out on a date and getting all excited; I like to daydream about Mr. Wonderful; I like to doll myself up and feel pretty; I like to imagine having the wonderful husband-wife relationship, etc. I'll allow my heart to open for these types of possibilities because it is fun.

But then "stuff" happens. The date doesn't call back; Mr. Wonderful isn't in real form; pretty isn't pretty when gorgeous is around; husband-wife relationship seems distant, if non-existent. It is then I close my heart and forbid myself from thinking about anything girly. I can't be hurt or disappointed with my heart closed. A closed heart can turn to a bitter or a cynical heart if left unchecked. I didn't need him; Mr. Wonderful only exists in dreams; there's no one to be pretty for, so why bother?; I'll be okay--even better--on my own.

Where's a good balance? How can I hope when I don't want to be disappointed? Is disappointment part of getting to fulfilled hope? These are all questions I want to answer for myself, but the battle between girly and cynical still goes on inside me.

Huh. I wonder what the answer is.

Maybe I'll just go to bed.

Things always look better after a night's sleep.

And there was great rejoicing . . .

. . . because the dirty roommate moved out! Hooray! This day was very much anticipated, and Ann and I have been dreaming about it for a couple of weeks. Dirty roommate moved out this afternoon, and she hadn't been gone for five minutes before Ann cleaned the floor and moved the couches. When I got home from work, I was pleasantly surprised by dinner, a clean kitchen, and an organized, lovely living room. I almost cried.

Curtains will be made, pictures will be hung, a TV will be bought, and before you know it, the apartment will look like home.

I am not ashamed of my apartment anymore!