Well folks, it's about time for an update. Our most recent big news is that Jason and I moved from our cute little apartment in Provo to our cute not-so-little apartment in Orem. It's an increase in rent, but a decrease in commuting time to and from both of our jobs. I tried to get pictures of us moving, but Jason is a very task-oriented guy and didn't feel like letting me take his picture. So this is the best I could do:
He's cute isn't he? We're mostly settled into our new place. Since my parents just moved and got a lot of new furniture, we've been fortunate to inherit what they no longer need/want. So we still have a bookshelf, a hutch and a guest bed to move from their old house to our new one.
I finished up my internship at The Daily Herald. It was a great experience and I'm going to miss working there. For your enjoyment, here is what is likely my last "Skinny" column ever.
The Daily Herald
Little problems with age: I am 5-foot-2 and 95 pounds - barely.
And not only does my body type closely resemble that of my 12-year-old sister and her friends, but my cute little face makes it hard to pick me out of a crowd of freshmen - as in high school freshmen.
Now I realize this is all well and good, and I will be grateful for my youthful looks when I'm older, but when I am trying to make it in the adult world, looking like I should still be reading Seventeen magazine and worrying about who might ask me to Junior Prom is not a good thing.
Last summer, I went to the Cartel concert at Mandalay Bay in Las Vegas, where you had to be either 16 years old or with a parent or guardian to get in.
No problem, or so I thought, until I was the only one there who was stopped -- twice -- and asked for proof that I was old enough to be at the show without my mommy.
One guy even laughed at me and asked, after seeing my over-21 driver's license, "Now, you're not really going to try and buy alcohol with this, are you?"
Well, I wasn't going to try and buy a drink, but the point is, I could have if I wanted to.
And sadly, I get the feeling the bartender would have called over security and had me hauled out of the show for attempting to use a fake driver's license.
I could go on for days with stories like this; such as the one time my then 11-year-old sister's friend asked me in awe if I attended the local junior high school. When I told her no, that, in fact, I was a senior at Brigham Young University she laughed at me. Now, every time she sees me she calls me "Little Miss Junior High."
Sometimes I want to teach her a lesson and clock her in the face, but, frankly, she's twice my size and I don't stand a chance against her.
-- Jessie Evans