Dullness

Being back in school means nothing exciting is going on in my life, other than routine (or getting used to a new routine for this semester, that is). New friends, new teachers, new schedule, new classes, but it won't be long before all is left is stress, stress and...you guessed right, stress.

If you are one of my LDS friends, I should tell you that I was called yesterday as assistant to the coordinator in my temple shift on Saturday morning, thus curtailing travel plans made for the near future (I was planning to go to San Francisco for Labor Day; forget about it now). I figure it was either that or releasing me as a temple worker, considering all the Saturdays off I take to go on little road trips all across the country. Well, I hope they're happy, I'm becoming a hermit.

I have to go now. I must get to....wait, I was doing nothing. Nevermind. I just have to go and be dull somewhere else.

13...bad luck?

I have embarked on an adventure to know, and go inside, as many LDS temples as possible. The updated list, so far, looks like this, in no particular order:

1. San Jose Costa Rica
2. Guatemala City Guatemala
3. Mexico City Mexico
4. Denver Colorado
5. Las Vegas Nevada
6. St. George Utah
7. Jordan River Utah
8. Salt Lake City Utah
9. Bountiful Utah
10. Provo Utah
11. Oquirrh Mountain Utah
12. Chicago Illinois
13. Nauvoo Illinois

The list stops there. Not that I'm superstitious, but since we drove exactly into a dark glooming storm, and feared for my life, on last Friday the 13th (on our way to Nauvoo, I may add, which is probably why we survived; it was a holy endeavor), I can't help but think I need to make that number 14 soon, and real soon. So I'm planning a quick one-day trip to the closest new temple to me; I was thinking Snowflake, Reno or Manti, whichever is closer. I still wonder if 13 is an unlucky number when counting temples, though.

When Kat doesn't know what to write about

The summer weather in Chicago reminds me so much of Honduras, that I'm seriously considering not going back next year. No matter how long I live in a warm climate, I could never get used to it.

I have one more week of summer before the next semester starts. I'm screaming my lungs out, on the inside. I love to travel, and hate that I have to go back home in a few days. Well, at least there's only one more month of scorching heat in Vegas.

I've been dreaming for a while about eating a falafel. And learning to speak Arabic. And call me crazy, but my dream vacations are a safari in Africa, and a tour of the Middle East. I guess I am a risk-lover, in my own eccentric way.

The power of my curses

Beware of crossing me. A good friend made a comment on my facebook wall (only the most public place of all...unforgivable), about me not being innocent (how dare anybody think that?). I replied with: "I hope you get food poisoning today." About 4 hours later, he was playing soccer, and broke a bone in his left foot. He was taken to a hospital, and has had a couple of surgeries since. He's still in recovery, about 2 months later. I did not know voicing the deepest desires of my heart would be so effective.

Misunderstanding

I will now write a story that's not my own but that it's worth sharing with the world, as you will soon realize. Disclaimer: the following story contains sensitive material regarding illegal immigrants. If you feel strongly against them, as do I, please refrain from reading, as I will never disclose their true identities (as much as I disagree with what they are doing, I still get along with them; I am that much of an angel).

My friend, Maria Encarnacion de los Angeles (of course the name has been changed, no one in their right mind would keep such a name) came to the US on a tourist visa, but decided to stay after her permit expired. Her husband, Guadalupe Natividad Asuncion, however, was a legal resident. Once, they were cruising around Kansas City (of course, these details have been changed as well), and Lupe was being a reckless driver, as usual when it comes to men (Hey, don't hate me; it's the truth). He was dying to get ahead of this slow driver in front of their lane, and was dreaming of a million mean things he could do to get him out of the way. Encarnacion, being the mature lady that she is, kept telling Lupe to keep his cool. 'You never know,' she said, 'it might be the police, and you know I can't afford to get pulled over by the police.'

Eventually, after Lupe's pressure went up to around 800, and one of the veins on his forehead threatened to pop at any minute, they passed the driver who, for Lupe, had come from the deepest pits of hell. As they passed the car, Lupe asked Encarnacion to check if it was, in fact, a police car. Encarnacion sighed in relief as she exclaimed, 'No, we're lucky, it's not the police, but it says BOR-DER-PA-TROL.'