I kicked and I screamed.

I plugged my ears and hollered at the top of my lungs.

But sooner or later, you have to give up…

… and admit that you are getting a cold.

*sigh *

(WARNING: This post contains a picture that might make you throw up a little bit in your mouth.)

… I will go the extra mile. I will throw myself into the effort of getting that perfect shot.

Sometimes more literally than others.

It’s funny how, when one is so focused on capturing the perfect shot of the bride and groom leaving the building, one can completely miss the existence of a step down from the sidewalk to the driveway.

It’s also funny how, when such a moment of neglect occurs, the sidewalk can decide to take a chunk out of one’s knee as a keepsake.

See? It’s pretty:

I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want to see that. But you know what? I didn’t really want to fall down those steps and rip my black pants that I payed $26.50 for at Old Navy. I know exactly how much I paid for them because the receipt for them is still sitting on my desk—because I bought them last week.

But, as I told all of the concerned onlookers at the time of the incident, at least my camera was fine. As long as my camera was alright, I was alright.

In case you haven’t been keeping track, I am developing quite a knack for falling down while carrying expensive equipment. And you’ll notice—none of the equipment has been damaged YET. So, to anyone out there who might have been thinking about lending me their expensive camera equipment: BE ENCOURAGED. I will die before it will.

But if you’re thinking about lending me pants? Um… Not so much.

P.S. I should mention the fact that this wound was acquired at the amazing Friday the 13th wedding of two dear acquaintances who are some of the most truly awesome people I know. So it was for a good cause.

(This post contains a BIG spoiler for the Star Wars novel Sacrifice. You’ve been warned.)

I know, I know.

Star Wars is not real. Mara Jade is a fictional character. Authors have a right to do what they will with their fictional characters. Yada yada yada…

But… do you even know how many hours I put into this website? Do you know how many more hours I spent longing to be Mara Jade? Or at least to meet her? Yeah, I thought not.

So, what do you think they did in the latest Star Wars novel? They killed her off!

Never mind the fact that I have not read a single Star Wars novel or spent more than thirty seconds thinking about Mara Jade for the last four years; I am still taking this personally. I wish there was some way I could rectify this horrible atrocity—but it seems the deed has been done, so all I can really say is…

… Mara lives, folks. MARA LIVES.

Finals week has me in its grip right now, so I don’t really have time for words. I just wanted to share this photo, taken a few weeks ago on a brief jaunt to the river, which has been gracing my desktop and making me giggle ever since:

I think this shot sums me and my friends up pretty well.

This one is for all you mp3 player—iPod or otherwise—owners out there who have ever faced the dilemma I am about to describe.

Picture this: you’re listening to your music. Alone.

It’s a fun, groovy little time for you, right? But it’s—let’s face it—a little bit solitary. What happens when you suddenly think to yourself, “Gee. I would really like to share this rocking Decemberists song with three to five of my closest companions.”

Up till now, if you didn’t have a pair of speakers with the proper connector handy, you were out of luck. But NOT ANYMORE! Now, all you need is your iPod, your earbuds, and—are you ready?—your mouth.

That’s right, folks! Your God-given oracular cavity is a perfect sound chamber to transmit your tunes to those standing immediately around you. Just follow these simple steps:

1. Turn on your iPod-like device.
2. Choose a rocking song.
3. Crank the volume.
4. Rest your earbuds on your lips, and close lightly around them. (Adjustment may be required to produce fullest sound.)
5. Watch your friends ooh and ah in amazement!

I know, I know… only a Gutenberg student could discover something quite so awesomely revolutionary. And trust me—there’s more where this came from.

A quick search through my archives tells me that I have not talked about the primary obsession of my formative years on this blog as much as one might think I would.

I am talking, of course, about Star Wars; and although you might not guess it by looking at me, I probably once could have given you a brief outline of almost every Star Wars novel in existence. (Especially those involving Mara Jade.) And that’s not even touching the wealth of knowledge about the films I gained by poring over the annotated screenplays.

Turns out my friend and housemate, Teal, is also a Star Wars fan. So when we discovered that the U.S. Postal Service was placing special “R2-D2″ mailboxes around the country in honor of Star Wars’ 30th anniversary, this was the only logical action which could follow:

You may feel free to point and laugh. We are immune.

I mean, heck… Teal was willing to stand in the middle of the UofO campus wearing a Mu-Mu inside out. I was willing to climb on top of a trash receptacle in the effort to capture the perfect shot. What do you think you’re going to do to us?

So. It was Easter today. You’re probably wondering: Did she do it again? Did she make the trek up Spencer’s Butte at dark-thirty in the morning? Did she toss her proverbial Easter cookies at the top?

Of course not, silly! Here’s what my friend Noah thinks of that idea:

Instead, a couple of us less-intrepid folk climbed ALL THE WAY to the top of the stairs at our house and watched the sunrise from our back balcony.

And then, after a blindingly bright ten or fifteen minutes, we retreated inside for coffee. And then we ate sticky buns.

All in all, it was a much more relaxed (and far less pukey) Easter morning than last year. I hope you all had good ones as well.

I planned to go to church this morning. I was going to leave at about 9:40 in order to be there at 10:00. And I was going to try my very hardest to break my recent streak of COMPLETELY sleeping through my alarm.

So you can imagine my disappointment when I rolled over this morning and read “9:30″ on the bright display of my alarm clock this morning. Goshdarnit, I thought to myself, not again. I rolled over and went back to sleep, feeling slightly defeated.

I was planning to go to my parents’ house after church, which usually ends at 11:30. So when I finally got up just after 12:00, I felt I should call them to let them know I was still coming.

First I called my Mom’s phone: no answer. Then I called my Dad’s phone: no answer. Two minutes later, My phone rang. It was dad.

“Erin! Did you just call me?” He sounded slightly alarmed.

“Yes, I did. Is your phone off? It went straight to voicemail!”

“That’s because I hung up on you.”

“Why?!”

“Because you called me in the middle of church!!”

…

“WHAT?! But, it’s after noon!”

“No, Erin, it’s 11:15!”

…

And that is when I remembered that my alarm clock is not a normal alarm clock. It is a super fancy, sort of expensive alarm clock that adjusts itself automatically for Daylight Savings Time. But you see—my super fancy, sort of expensive alarm clock was not notified that Daylight Savings Time changed this year… that it, in fact, happened three weeks ago. It thought that Daylight Savings Time began last night, and moved itself one hour forward accordingly.

After cursing my alarm clock, apologizing to my Dad for interrupting church, and having a good laugh at the whole ridiculous situation, I realized what a feeling of freedom that extra hour gave me—I could actually be on time to my parents’ house. I could be early, even. Amazing! Apparently, a firm belief in an incorrect time is the only way to get me up on time.

Maybe I should set my clock an hour ahead more often.

My roommate, Tiffany, comes back from spring break tomorrow. And although, while she was here, I was pretty good about keeping the overflowing containers of crap on my side of the room, in her absence I have spread piles of my own junk over every square inch of the room (excepting her bed).

Tonight I was telling another housemate, Teal, about this. “Tiffany better not come back early and surprise me,” I said, “I think she would take one look at the room and fall down dead.”

“Well,” Teal responded, without missing a beat, “At least then you would have a single room.”

…

Don’t worry, Tiffany. She didn’t mean it. I don’t think.

… who are willing, at a moment’s notice, to drop everything, come TP your car, and then leave you menacing comments about it on your blog.

Makes a girl feel loved. sniff

(P.S. Actually, it kind of ticked me off—at least until I found out it was someone I know that did it. )