The Motorola Charm is a terrible blogging device

Hey hooligans! I have a strong desire to blog/tweet/FB but my new apartment has a strong desire to have its internet up and running by Sep 1st, so until then I get to use my phone and a 3G connection so spotty it could have starred in 101 Dalmations. So sorry if you haven't heard from me lately, I'll be back soon.

Teenagers

The teenagers below my apartment are too brightly colored. The average fashionable teenager these days wears floral prints with skinny belts, but these teenagers seem stuck in the days when Avril Lavigne was dating a guy from Sum 41. Those were my teenage days, kids. Get with the times.

I blame Lady Gaga, the self-proclaimed Monster who probably hides under the beds of floral-print lovers and threatens them with nightmares of sequined turquoise pants and blond n’ black streaked bangs.

The brightly colored teenagers loiter around our street thanks to the Craze, an arcade and laser tag hang out that also provides cheap pizza and mini golf with an entrance not a foot away from our apartment entrance.

I’m not sure what our apartment is called. It’s most often referred to by its address, 30 College Avenue, but I make my rent checks out to Ferrin Square, as the landlords are Julie and Keith Ferrin. For a short time I believe the apartments were called Ferrin Heights, since a shield bearing an “FH” insignia decorates our door entrance.

Before being named “The Craze,” the managers at the time were our close friends asking for name suggestions for their new brightly colored teenager attracting entertainment venue. Seve suggested “FERRINHEIGHT 451,” which I encouraged by suggesting the innards of the building being painted with murals of pterodactyl-like books set aflame and fluttering around a post-apocalyptic setting of Rexburg.

But this particular brand of teenager would likely never get the reference as they’re too busy squeezing into magenta cutoffs and wearing oversized lime beanies, and if they bother to read books at all they’re probably relating to literary whiny teen Holden Caulfield. Whose favorite hat was, I distinctly recall, a bright shade of red.

Predicament

Seve and I were to be moving this weekend, but it might be postponed. It's a long story that I'd rather not bore you with, but suffice it to say that we're waiting on move-in approval for our new place that will definitely take us by next week, we were just hoping for this weekend since Seve starts teaching this week . . . so he'll be going on ahead while I wait here for a week, until he can pick me up (and our moving van with all our stuff) next weekend and we can finally, finally, finally move.

When I first received this news I was really flustered, but now I'm seeing it as a good thing. One more week with the people I'm about to miss terribly in the apartment and town I've fallen in love with and I'm sad to leave behind? Well, all right, if I must.

Anytime will do, my love

I'm really proud of this guy. He recently graduated with his Bachelor's in Theatre/Speech Education and he's currently busy with the BYU-Idaho Theatre Summer Camp, of which he's the director/creator. I remember the morning he woke up telling me he had this amazing dream about organizing a theatre summer camp for high school kids up on campus. It's wonderful to see that dream come to fruition a year later.

Seve and I will be moving in just two weeks! Also, we're getting a new car. Also, I've been packing for the past four days while Seve's been busy with the camp. No matter how tiny our apartment is, or how little we seem to own, packing while 31 weeks pregnant has proven to be a slow, daunting task. It's pretty ridiculous. Like, carry-three-books-at-a-time-into-the-next-room-to-place-in-a-box ridiculous. Get three more books, repeat. Ugh. But I'll be finished in time for next week, which I plan on being packing-free so Seve and I can relive first dates/kisses/ice cream cones/etc one last time before we move.

Back to three-book packing!