This post is for McKenzie and also the story of the mystery in my bed.

The other day I was doing homework in my apartment living room when I looked at my phone and saw I had a notification on Snap chat. I opened it up to see my friend sent me a picture of a calendar she saw while at the mall, next to words that said something like, "How weird is this calendar?"

It was a certain calendar called nuns having fun, and it displays nuns from history, and currently, having fun in all over the world in all kinds of ways; like skiing and basketball.

How do I know so much about this calendar?

BECAUSE I OWN IT AND IT IS AWESOME AND LITERALLY HANGING IN MY LIVING ROOM RIGHT NOW!

(This year was the color edition.)

(My roommates and I have taken to labeling each other in the calendar each month. I'm going solo on guitar)

Anyway, that above portion has been sitting in my draft box for about two months which I feel kind of bad about as I wish I was the kind of person who was creative, hilarious, and motivated enough to write regularly (see: http://themcfrenzy.blogspot.com/)

I don't necessarily have a theme for this blog, or really a purpose for it, other than, as stated in an earlier post and an episode of 30 Rock, to work my "mind grapes"

Thank you, Mr. Jordan

If I were to pick a theme for this blog, however, it would probably be weird stuff that I remember from my childhood or that has happened recently sprinkled with some existential thoughts about my purpose and place in the universe. If this is an attractive prospect for you and you wish to continue reading, know that I really want to hug you and probably give you a respectful kiss on the cheek. With your consent, of course.

Today, I'll be telling about something weird that happened this past semester. I really couldn't tell this until the semester was over and once I've told you, I think you'll understand why.

Last semester I was living with a really great bunch of girls at school. All of us really got along well and other than me occasionally getting annoyed at a pile of dishes in the sink, there was pretty much no conflict. 

We weren't really in the habit of big pranks, but sometimes we talked about how great it would be to play pranks on each other like we were silly girls at a camp. I even managed to sneak up on some of my roommates and scare them, but again no real elaborate pranks.

One day I had gotten back from a long day of homework, teaching at the local elementary school, and then working a childcare job.

I was so tired I immediately got into comfy pants and was determined to sleep until I forgot how stressful my life was.

I had made my bed that day so I lifted my covers to jump in when I saw something under my sheets. It looked grainy and white, and there was a lot of it where there was nothing that morning.

Too much of it to be some kind of accident.

 I took some between my fingers and smelled it. I supposed, in my tired state, that there were three things that grainy substance could have been: 

1.Sugar

2.Salt

3.Some kind of poison probably.

So like the tired idiot I was, I took a grain of it and touch it to my tongue. Salt.

Figuring this was some kind of weird prank by my roommates, and remember I was tired, I literally just dusted most of the salt off my bed and hopped in to go to sleep.

I know, I'm a gross human being. 

The next day I thought more about this "prank" one or more of my roommates had pulled. It was a weird prank, what was the endgame here? I didn't get it, but guessing that was the funny part about it, the randomness, I took it in good humor and asked my roommates about it the next day.

It wasn't even a question. Someone put salt in my bed. So I went around throughout that next day asking my roommates "who put salt in my bed? Were you in on this?"

I lived with five girls, all of them were convincingly mystified, asking me about the salt in my bed. I brought a couple of my roommates to the scene of the crime, to touch the leftover salt for themselves.

Not. one. roommate.confessed.

If I know pranksters, they want to get caught, so that they get the chance to laugh with/at you.

I know because that's my favorite part of playing pranks.

BUT NO ONE CONFESSED!!!

I went throughout the rest of the week waiting for someone to confess. Nothing.

Two weeks later, after a day I had mostly spent at home doing homework, as I lift my sheets to get into bed, AGAIN, salt in my bed!!!!

Two incidences, no confessions. I waited until the end of the semester to see if people fessed up.

It is now April 2014, and I have no answers, half my roommates left for home.

Here are my theories.

1.One of my roommates secretly hated me a lot and got back at me by putting salt in my bed. This is kind of sad  but funny because I mostly try to be a good be a roommate and be considerate and all, but if this person hated me and the best way they thought to hurt me was by putting salt in my bed, I actually kind of have to love that kind of person. 

2. There is a Rexburg caper who likes to play pranks without the rush of being caught and laughing. I don't like this person mostly because it leaves me without answers.

3. Someone or something was trying to protect me from demons. I've seen enough episodes of Supernatural to know that salt keeps away demons, I'm no fool. If this is the case, thanks a bunch, salt my bed or whatever.

 Thank you Winchester Brothers+Castiel

I've researched the internet for answers, none of the pieces seem to come together. It couldn't have been some kind of weird bug, there were no holes in my ceilings, and I don't throw my shoes on my bed.

This will probably become one of those historical mysteries, no one knows the answers but it's fun to think about what the answer might be, like the lost colony, or the crystal skulls.

But seriously, if you have theories, hit me up.

Listen to this while you think about it.

Things I now know about Helen Hunt and Child Development

It's almost one am and I have had just had a crazy educational day in what activities not to do with elementary school kids. I'm exhausted but I can't sleep so I'm in a bit of happy delirium fueled by eating three strawberry cookies and drinking chai tea.

So obviously it's a perfect time to post on my blog.

I've been meaning to post this story for awhile because I feel like it's relate-able in a weird way to everyone's childhood. The things you don't realize when you're a kid and sometimes carry into your adulthood.

Let me just explain...

Two months I ago I learned that Helen Hunt, does not, in fact, have three breasts. This is a somewhat stunning revelation to have had as a young women in my early twenties, but I kid you not I did not question this idea until November of 2013.
 If you don't remember, Helen Hunt is that actress from films like Twister, Pay it Forward, and Cast Away

 

You know, Helen Hunt.

In any case, for a great part of my life I held this strange belief and it was only rectified when in November I was perusing YouTube and saw and advertisement for her starring in a indie film. Immediately when I saw she was in the film I wondered to myself  "I wonder what happened to her third boob?"

So I took to Google like the good little millennial I am, and searched for "Helen Hunt + Third Breast".

Nothing.

I tried the same search with different wordings.

Some other stuff came up but it was definitely not what I was looking for.

So I thought hard about where I had heard this. It only took a few seconds before I realized I had been holding this idea about Helen Hunt under some pretty ridiculous circumstances.

If we rewind to probably sometime around 2001 I was about 9 years old and completely unlearned in discerning credible news sources.

As  child of this age I was also subject to frequent grocery store trips with my mom. Mom was no rookie grocery shopper and bought a ton of food in each grocery trip to plan for our family meals. As such, we always had to spend a long time checking out and the 20 items or less aisle was practically a foreign territory to me. 

It was in these times standing in line that I would look, predictably, at the magazines in the aisle. And if you remember anything about the late 90's and early 2000's in grocery stores, you will remember one magazine frequenting those shelves; at least in central North Carolina.

The National Enquirer.

This was (might still be, I have no idea) a celebrity smearing magazine that also sometimes includes articles about recent supernatural events like alien sightings, or ancient curses ruining mid-western american housewives linen. It's just like, a ridiculous magazine and no one took it seriously.

But as a nine year old, I had no idea about this! This magazine was sitting next to actual newspapers and magazines like 17, and Vogue. How was I supposed to know that this joke of a magazine had no real credibility? If you really think about it, the National Enquirer seems like a name for a totally legitimate newspaper or magazine.

So I one day while I was waiting in that long line I looked at the cover, I even remember what it looked like. In the upper right portion of the magazine's banner, in black and white, I saw Helen Hunt in a photo with what clearly looked like three evenly sized breasts in her tank top, next to writing in bold letters that probably said something like " SCANDAL! Helen Hunt discovered with three breasts!"

I don't know the circumstances of why she did have them, but in my mind this made sense. I remember actually thinking 

"Oh right, she hasn't been in anything since Castaway. Probably because she's embarrassed that everyone knows about that extra breast now. Totally makes sense."

And while I later was able to learn that the National Enquirer is not actually a reliable magazine, I never rectified this small fact of Helen Hunt's chest situation in my head.

So this resulted in mine holding of this idea of her since 2001. Literally every time someone mentioned Helen Hunt, which was not often enough for me to question, I wondered about her chest. 

SINCE 2001! THAT IS MORE THAN TEN YEARS AGO! 

Now that I work with kids, and study them a lot I realize how easily children will believe things. They are just so inherently trusting and that is beautiful while hilarious. Children mimic what adults do, believe what adults tell them, and do what adults tell them. These things they learn are carried into their entire lives, contribute to what kind of adult that child will turn into Isn't that terrifying? Now knowing this I feel an intense responsibility to be a somewhat decent adult. I want to be the kind of person that can be so understanding of that time and hopefully spur something good within these little adults.

I think a lot of people forget what it's like to a be a child and I honestly get so upset about that.

When I see a child "acting up" in a grocery store or restaurant or whatever, and then I see other people being judgmental with their stares and whispered, I'm infuriated.

These little humans are in people training and it takes so much learning to be a proper, contributing adult. They are learning.

There are people in their 30's and older who still haven't grasped it, who need to learn, and so much of it depends on childhood.

So I really feel lucky to have left childhood still believing that Helen Hunt had extra gifts when other kids left with learning so much worse untruths. 

And I remember what was like, to scrape my knees and still keep playing dangerously,  to believe that kisses stopped pain on all my cuts and bruises.

This is why over a year ago I was so easily taken when a friend told me that when he was a little kid he used to pretend to be a business man with a briefcase and go out to his little battery powered kid car, WHICH EVERYONE IN THE WORLD WAS JEALOUS OF, and sit in the driveway in it pretending to be stuck in traffic.

Like instead of driving around in it.

I knew we would get along swimmingly. Just because I knew he remembered what it was like.

I might post again in the future. Love to all.