I'll take my milk from a chocolate straw

I hate milk. Je ne l'aime pas. Okay, I dislike it. So 95 percent of the time, I don't drink it plain. And I throw out the extra milk from my cereal. Yep, I waste it. But then, the other week, I found this treasure. Choco milk straws. So the premise as follows: put the straw in a glass of milk, place your lips on the straw, suck, and viola, chocolate milk party in the mouth. There is also cookies and cream flavor. I was just shopping around Walmart on a Monday afternoon, and there they were, sitting quietly on the shelf. So I bought them like a thief. The check-out lady didn't even comment or say anything like, "Whoa, cool straws."

Hence, as of late, I have been drinking milk "plain" mostly just because I like using the straws. And I make every other duck who wanders into our apartment try them. So I have been drinking lots of milk. I even used one to finish my cereal milk once. But now I have a question: Am I slightly lactose intolerant? Is that even possible? Because milk doesn't usually make me sick, but I am not so sure...unless it is these straws that are doing the poison.

I haven't decided yet if I am going to stop drinking milk from these straws. But I do think I will be having oatmeal for breakfast, instead of cereal, for the rest of the week. #milkiswierd #strawsareforthecoolkids #maybetheyshouldselltheseatchicfilla

Instagram with Lives for Hugs: Egyptian Cat Edition

For over half a year, my sista, Annasophia, and I been sending each other a picture of the day. Basically it is like Instagram, revamped. We send each other things we are doing, or random things we saw, or we just hold up our phones and take of shot of whatever and press send. The ultimate compliment is when someone says "artsy" back. That means you took a pretty great shot.

But the other day, my sister sent me this picture:

Okay, what is going on here? I just keep looking at it too. I mean, that is what I do when I am bored, or stressed, or silly, I put a piece of bread over my head and talk like a robot. And it is interesting too because a few days before she sent me a picture of a cat looking in a puddle at its reflection which was a lion. So, is that cat doing that cat-thing, and trying to look like a lion? Because if he is, he has nothing on my cat, Tigress.

And so I just wanted to share this picture with all of you. When you are bored/stressed/don'tknowwhattodo, just remember, You are bread. Whatevs that means.

P.S. Sometimes I call my sister by her Indian name: She lives for hugs.

Oh and just for your enjoyment. We both get up pretty dang early. So one morning, I sent her a picture of me looking tired, and she responded with her tired picture. Featured below for your viewing pleasure.

First Day of School

Aujourd'hui was my first day of school, as a teacher! So I decided to take a picture like my mamma used to when I was in elementary. Basically, it was pretty much a day. I am not going to say that it wasn't hard, but I for sure love my job. Actually I am obsessed with it. Mostly because I just love my students. Here is me awkwardly waiting for the timer to go off on my camera because no one else wakes up at the crack of crazy to go to work. Okay, a lot of people do, but just not my roommates. Cheers for teaching!

Also, junior high is the place to be. I think that is where I want to spend the rest of my teaching days. Eighth grade baby.

Hard Things Are Cake

When I was a wee lil senior in high school, I really wanted to run for BYU. Dream came true when I looked at the ringing phone's caller ID: Patrick Shane. Only there are lotz of crazy NCAA rules about recruits, so when there was a mess up with the plane tickets or the dates for the official visit, Coachie couldn't call me, but I didn't know that. I was scared to call him, intimidated. I remember holding the phone, sucking in, and telling myself I was holy-cow not going to let this chance pass me by. Turns out he had just postponed the dates, n even a bd.

Okay so maybe we did have basically all the ingredients we needed.
We still make a pretty huge cake.

When I first started substitute teaching, some of the junior highs would hand me a free lunch pass for subs when I checked in at the front office. If walking through a crowd of middle schoolers in a lunch room, waiting in line with them, and eating their food doesn't sound uncomfortable to you, then buy me a box of chocolates. Honestly, it really wasn't that hard, and it tots def for sure's not a big deal. I mean you just walk into the lunch room, grab your food and leave. Why do I sometimes think some of the easiest things in the world are hard?

Like yesterday. I bought a plane ticket for myself. I have flown around quite a bit, but someone else - my mom, BYU travel, random people off the street - have always arranged my travel. And don't ask me why, for some reason I thought buying a plane ticket would be hard. I've purchased a few train tickets in my lifetime, but planes? Different story. That is why people used to hire travel agents isn't it? Well guess the penny, buying a plane ticket is easier than scooping ice cream.

And reading 30 books in half-term? Easy. Planning out how to teach an entire school year to eight graders? Easy. Running 10 miles in the snow when there is icicles forming on your eyelashes? Easy. Just one foot in front of the other. Baking a giant cake, without flour or sugar or eggs or milk or frosting? Easy. Easy as cake actually.

So ya, sometimes easy things seem hard, but they're not. After the fact, I always look back and laugh at myself for ever stressing. And I blog about it so you can all see the awk little quirks of mikeln.

*I have never, and would never, let someone random off the street buy me a plane ticket.

Nailzz

Way back on December twenty-fifth, I received these sticker nails as a gift. You're all jay-jay-jealous I'm sure; my sister was too. So then around thirty minutes past midnight last night, my angle roommate, Say, let me lie in my bed while she stuck these to each of my fingers and filed away the extra sticker with a pretty flimsy nail file. She loves me. We both got tired and she only finished one hand. Then she fell asleep in my room-roommate's bed because Faithy is out of town. So this morning, I skittled up to church one hand flowered, the other not. nbd - I slide. Why am I even blogging about his? Because I have roses on my nails, that's why; and just like my fat fingers in this awk pic, I am rockin' the sticker nails. And yes, I am twenty-two. Still young enough to get away with it.

Secondly, here is a shy-shout-out to my ward. If you are a YSA student around these parts, you are going to want to move into my ward. Beluga the best ward evs.

Mini Salami

I know this is weird. I know you might judge me. Just listen to my story.

My roommate got married last summer. And before she got married, her fiance and her would carry around a huge, obnoxious beanie ball. A beanie ball is a beanie baby that is puffed up in a huge stuffed ball. They would bring it everywhere with them, even their engagement pictures, out to dinner, wherever, and pretend it was their child. Weird. I know.

They named it Salami  Here is a picture. He is about the size of a large beach ball. Then one day, she bought me a mini version of Salami. Same picture, only small enough  in fit in the palm of my hand. So I started sleeping with it. I, who has never slept with a stuffed animal in my life, started sleeping with Mini Salami. K but listen, he just fits so perfectly in the palm of my hand or in between my chest and arms, or lotz of other places too. To make a long, not so long, story short, I love sleeping with Mini Salami. Still do it. Every night actually. I will hold him in my arms all night long. I move positions, throw the covers off the bed, but in the morning, I will still be all cuddled up with Salami. Okay, I know this is weird. I'm weird. I still love Salami.

My old roommate who got married has no idea that I do this. Although I am sure she would get a kick out of it.

My current roommates semi-love it and want mini beanie ballz of their own.

My study abroad directors (yes I told my study abroad class when they asked for a strange slash embarrassing story about myself) think I should bring it to Paris, to help with culture shock. I wasn't going to bring it, but they convinced me. I bought Salami's ticket today.

A few random other people that I have confessed this to, think I am weird. Valid. I am.

I'm just going to revel in my weirdness.

Here is an awk pic of me in my pajamies with Salami.