Oh, I brought those

Just got back from a party a few of my friends were hosting. It was great--they provided the entertainment, decorations, and I assumed most of the food.The homemade salsa and drinks were incredible, but when I took a few bites of a powdery-looking cookie, my tastebuds quickly revolted. They were stale, dry, and crumbled all over when you tried to eat them. Worst cookies ever! The girl standing next to me asked about them, so I leaned in close and quietly whispered "they're not that great, I don't recommend them." She sort of smiled halfway and said, "oh, I brought those..."

Camel farm

I love all of my grandparents, but when I was growing up it was Grandma and Grandpa Smith that I really wanted to visit because they lived on a farm. There was so much space to run around, and their animals were quite exotic to a city-raised kid like myself--especially the horses that my cousins and I would ride for hours. I've decided that when I grow up I want to be the type of grandpa that my family is excited to visit. I did a study abroad at the BYU Jerusalem center a few summers ago, and one of the highlights of my trip was getting to ride a camel along the banks of the Nile in Egypt. I can't explain why, but these bizarre creatures absolutely fascinated me, and on my way back to the states I had an epiphany that (in my mind) is pure genius: I am going to own a camel farm. Forget the horses, what kind of youngster wouldn't want to ride an eight-foot woolley pachyderm around the neighborhood for a few hours? "Hey kids, who wants to go see Grandpa Spencer?"  Why, everyone does of course!

Random restroom renegade

Ugh, gender differences... The Richards Building is the hub for fitness, sports, and dance events on campus. That being said, it's loaded with gymnasiums, racquetball courts, swimming pools, recital halls, and all sorts of restrooms to accommodate the variety of demands these activities impose. I've spent my fair share of time in and around this building, but the second story dance wing still remained somewhat of a mystery to me. That is, until last week. There was a formal event taking place in one of the auditoriums, and (as always seems to happen) there was a mad-dash to the restrooms during intermission. As I mentioned, I don’t know this section of the building very well, but I know there were restrooms somewhere down the hall. My mind is wandering as I make my way through the masses of people. At this rate, there is going to be a killer line I think to myself, so I decide to go a little further in search of another restroom. After a short walk, I see the familiar gender-designating sign on the doorway that several girls have just entered, so naturally I walk a few more steps and enter the next restroom. As soon as I turn the corner, I’m taken aback by the absence of any urinals. Hmm that’s strange... Oh crud! Suddenly it clicks, and I realize I'm not in the Men's restroom.
       No big deal, right? I’m sure many guys have accidentally gone into the wrong bathroom. Well, things were about to get even more interesting. As soon as I recognize my mistake, I hear several voices behind me and the door starts to open. You know how in emergency situations time seems to freeze, and your mind works a billion miles an hour? This was one of those times. In a split-second, I realize several girls are about to walk around the corner and find a man standing in the middle of their bathroom, looking like a deer in the headlights. Awkward all around. So I make a beeline for the corner stall. I’ll just wait until they leave, that way no one will even know I was here... It seemed like a good idea to me, but apparently bathrooms are the estrogen-socializing capitol of the world. For crying out loud, these girls were chatting-it-up right outside my stall for several minutes! Then all of a sudden it went dead-quiet. Wait, what’s going on? Is this a normal part of the female bathroom experience, or should I be panicking? Apparently one of them had seen the bottom of my dress slacks and size 12 shoes under the stall door, and after a flurry of not-so-quiet whispers, they sounded the girl-alarm and rushed out of the room. What do I do now? I raise my feet off the ground and rest them against the wall in attempt to hide my man-legs until I can determine if the coast is clear. Just when I decide to make a dash for it, the bathroom door swings opens again and a deep, booming voice asks “is somebody in here?” Great. I can’t believe this is actually happening. The girls had grabbed the janitor, who was determined to flush me out, pun intended. Of course he didn’t believe my story, and geez, did I ever get an earful as he escorted me out the door and past the three chatty-Kathies who were now giving me the look-of-death. It was a whole new level of awkward. I don’t know whose bright idea it was to put two womens restrooms right next to each other, but I guarantee they’d reconsider if they had to spend 20 minutes trapped in the corner stall…