Romney.

The following two pictures should pretty succinctly declare my feelings on the political atmosphere nowadays.

The prettiest map of the U.S. I've ever seen.

My loyalties.

In an attempt to calm my troubled heart, I just completed my own electoral map prediction at cnn dot com. NOTE - please do not read this as me endorsing cnn in any way, shape, or form, or however the phrase may go. Now if any of you out there enjoy partaking in the annual March Madness bracket hysteria, oh boy, you should give the electoral college predictor a try. Anyway, I will reveal that the predictor landed nicely in my favor, but it was just too close to glean any kind of real comfort. 281 Romney to 243 Obama is a little unsettling to me. Mr. Romney, even though I live in a sadly blue state and my vote means jack squat here, I will be there for you! Romney 2012!

Smog check.

Prior to registering my car in California, I am required to have a smog test performed on my car. After a rather unpleasant experience at one location, where I lost an entire hour of my life, I decided to google "smog test locations in Huntington Beach." After locating a business not too far from my house, I looked at the website, read some reviews, figured this place looked legit. Now don't get me wrong - the smog check was quick, efficient, my car passed, no worries there. I'd just like to point out the waiting conditions I was promised - "Free while you wait: wireless PC connectivity, bottled water, magazines, sitting area" - versus what I encountered -


A couple plastic folding chairs stationed underneath a dingy old tarp, with a rusting overturned boat in the background, and a three-legged dog hobbling around (OK, actually the dog had all four legs, but I think saying he had only three legs paints a better picture).

I don't know where the PC connectivity, bottled waters, or magazines were, but I suppose you could say I was offered a pretty fine waiting area.

Moral of the story: I guess everything you read on the internet isn't true??

Marm.

Last week I received an email notification that my mom had updated her Goodreads account. Three new books with ratings and comments to spare. As I read through her comments I noticed a few small grammatical errors - nothing drastic. Ordinarily, I might have overlooked these slight blunders of the English language. But since these comments were posted on a book reading website where English lovers alike rate their recent reads, I felt it my duty to email my mom my edits of her comments. I just wanted her to sound top of her game. Knowing how very appreciative she would be of my grammar tutorage, I was completely unsurprised when she responded, "Whatever school marm!" Now since I'm not 100 years old, "marm" is not a word often found in my vocabulary. Deciphering the word from context wasn't terribly difficult, but I decided to research the word anyway. My quick google search returned the following, "a british word meaning an old school teacher, usually a bespectacled virgin. somewhat old and stingy. fond of floral print granny panties."

I suppose I deserved it.

Sights of DC.

Some views of the city:

White House


Jefferson Memorial


Washington Monument


Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial


Lincoln Memorial


Capitol Building


National Museum of Air and Space


I sent this picture to my dear mother. This is me in front of the Capitol building.


It all has to do with that one incident last year where our work emails were down, during which time my dad emailed me, only to receive an automated cryptic response that the email had not gone through, upon which my mom proceeded to question if I really had a job. Anyway...so you see why I need to send her occasional reminders that I am, in fact, employed. These were her responses:

"I thought you were supposed to be training. What are you training for? A tourist?" and then, "Were you counting buildings?"

She's oh soooooo witty.

The story of a brand.

Ever wonder how a brand changes from this:


To this:

?

Please welcome the fairy tale story* you've all been craving to know - the unheard story of the P double u C brand change.

Once upon a time in a land far, far away, there lived Brand, held captive by an evil step mom. Brand longed for release and for her prince charming.

One day Prince Orange stumbled upon the castle where Brand was held. With the aid of his trusty steed Pink, Prince Orange defeated the dragon holding Brand captive and tricked the evil step mom into releasing Brand. Brand then turned into a lovely princess, adorned in red. The two fell in love, a union of orange, pink, and red, and lived happily ever after. The end.

*I know you're all thinking, "Dang, this is what this girl does in her spare time - make up stupid stories about some random thing that happened at her job." But fear not. I have been in training all week, learning how to converse, present, and, yes, write. This little gem of a production was courtesy of a required segment in our writing class. So now I can find a much better use for my spare time. Like unpacking. Or watching Bones. Or posting stupid tidbits about my life on here.

Too many colors.

Steve Orange owns 100% of the stock of Purple Corp. and Fred Smith owns 100% of the stock of Red Corp. that, in turn, owns 100% of the stock of Blue Corp. Blue Corp. intends to acquire 100% of the stock of Purple Corp. from Steve in exchange for Red Corp. stock. Each of the following is a party to the reorganization as defined in §368, EXCEPT:

Purple

Orange

Red

Blue

Accountants are so clever :)

R.I.P. Indiana driver's license.

That’s right. I’m officially licensed to drive in California. I spent some precious moments at the DMV this morning, finally getting my California driver’s license after a year and a half of living here. As a side note, I also registered to vote and found out that my vision in my left eye is kind of terrible. I blame my occupation.

And the computer I stare at day after day.

But mostly what this day has brought me is a new sense of awareness to the road around me. After spending a good portion of the day yesterday reading the entire California driver’s manual cover to cover, I’ve developed a bit of snootiness on the roads. I can practically quote portions of the manual, issuing tacit citations left and right to my neighbors of the road. Boy, I hope this wears off soon.

Anyway, it does feel nice not needing to be afraid of the police anymore, lying to them about how lovely it is to “visit” California. So look out California – I’m here to stay. And look out drivers slash bicyclists slash pedestrians – I know what you’re doing wrong, and I will let you know. Silently. In my car.

Harry Potter.

That's what has happened. Call me a nerd all you want, but I started reading these books when I was 12 years old. That's HALF my life spent dreaming of adventures at Hogwarts, expectantly checking the mail for my acceptance letter (which probably got lost by one of those silly school owls), sorting myself into a house with no help from the Sorting Hat (I'd be a Ravenclaw - I'm fairly certain), practicing quidditch and spell recitations in my spare time, debating what form my patronus would take (I'm thinking a penguin - on its belly), referencing Voldemort in serious conversations as "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," and genuinely believing I was best friends with all the characters (the good ones at least). So you can see how this ending truly affects me. In all seriousness, though, I don't know if another series will ever captivate and consume me quite like Harry Potter could. I mean I practically grew up with this guy. Twelve years is a long time. So here's my tribute to J.K. and her beautifully crafted series of novels. And to a series of movies that never quite lived up to the wonder of the books but which nonetheless helped to bring the spirit of Harry Potter alive.

Countries.

I'm pretty sure Andrew texted me "Greek" on accident instead of his usual friendly "Geek." So naturally I went along. And along. And along.






In other news, I found Andrew's doppleganger.


I know you might all be thinking, "Really, Emma? Where's Andrew's lightning bolt scar?" Well, you're right - he doesn't have one. But for now, let's please just ignore that minor detail and notice they both are wearing glasses. Wow, I can't tell who is who.

I love to see the temple.

I went there yesterday.


Another happening from yesterday:
I was enjoying the sunny day at the pool for a bit, when I noticed two little girls trying to enter through the gate. I hopped over to let them in and made my way back to the pool. One of the little girls followed and politely walked up to me to say thank you. She then paused for a moment before asking, "Are you a teenager?" After a slight chuckle and a negative response from me, she replied, "Oh. Well, you look like one." "Well, how old are you?" I asked. After stating that she was nine years old, with a beam on her face, I informed her that I was more than TWICE her age. To which she responded, "Yeah, you look older than me."
Moral of the story: So I definitely look older than nine, phew. But I also look like a teenager. I guess I'll accept.

Yosemite.

This weekend my ward went on a camp out to a little place called Yosemite. It was very cold. But it was very beautiful.








We hiked to the top of Yosemite Falls, which is probably one of the prettiest hikes I have ever done. During the course of the 8 point something mile long hike my feet got fairly dirty. Alright, they were downright grimy. Not knowing where to wash up (slash afraid of the frigid river water nearby), I did what any respectable camper would do: I pretended my feet were clean and stuck a pair of socks on 'em. Needless to say, I spent a decent amount of time in the shower yesterday scrubbing all that caked on dirt off my feet. All part of the camping experience :) Overall, though, the trip was thoroughly enjoyable. Just as spectacular as everyone said it would be.

Hello again.

Exactly one week ago today I took my last CPA exam. Ever. (Please confirm this detail again with me in about a month or so when the scores are actually released, and I can state this characteristic about my life with more certainty than just the cheery optimism I am currently employing.) Do you know what that means???

No more this.


And no more that.


Celebrations are in order. And the resurgence of this little guy.

Provo dating scene.

Yesterday I had the grand opportunity of witnessing one of the most awkward first dates. Now I will never claim to be the premier dating aficionado, not having a particularly rich history in that area, but here are a few observations I was able to glean from that experience. Number 1: I hate the ever-so-broad "So what are your hobbies?" question. I'm not saying it's not important to know the girl's interests, but there's got to be a different approach. The direct "What do you like to do for fun?" path shows me that you have the conversational adeptness of a 13-year old pubescent boy. You might as well follow it up with some comments on the weather. Or maybe some trivia on golf. Number 2: You're LDS, I'm LDS, we like to pray, but please don't say a prayer over the food out loud in the middle of a restaurant on our first date. Or any date for that matter. Finally, number 3: Don't judge me based on my pioneer heritage, please. First of all, who actually cares about that anymore in assessing the qualifications of a future spouse? We're not the Malfoy family; we don't need to be in search of purebloods. And OK, maybe the pioneer stock is important. But is a first date really the appropriate locale for asking if the girl's grandparents have been members their whole lives?

Which reminds me of a funny story from my freshman year here at the BYU. I was visiting a friend's grandma who lived just up the street from us in DT, when the grandma asked me where I was from. Upon hearing I was from Indiana she replied, "Oh, so you're a convert?"

Anyway, ignore the digression. Actually you can probably ignore all my advice on dating. I really don't have enough ethos to fully substantiate my position. These are just a few thoughts from my past Saturday night life.

Elf yourself.

Oh, it's back, and it's better than ever. I can't quite figure out why, but I laugh at those dancing elves every single time. The best looking choices for Santa's helpers, you might ask? None other than my fave tax professors. Meet Boyd, Bob, Dave, and the IRC. And of course I threw myself in there to tango as well. Sometimes dreams really do come true. Even if only on the Internet.

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

John Hancock.

The other day my brother and I were at the store, purchasing something with a credit card. That's when the cashier asked my brother for his "John Henry." I let the blunder slip, but as time passed, I couldn't help wondering if I had failed to exhibit proper patriotic duty by teaching this guy a little basic 4th grade American history. Or if my 7th grade English teacher might be upset that I hadn't given the kind gentleman a brief tutorial on English idiomatic expressions.

Ah well . . . too late to educate that silly cashier now. But for future reference, the appropriate man and expression is "John Hancock."

Not John Henry.

And not Herbie Hancock.

In other news, I decided to do a little research on this John Henry fellow, and found this interesting bit of trivia on Wikipedia: "In Canadian culture, it is common to refer to giving one's signature as a 'John Henry' instead of a 'John Hancock', who was a revolutionary figure or even a traitor, opposed to the Royalty of England."

So maybe the cashier was Canadian. Hmmm.

Counting.

My brother Andrew recently needed surgery on his mouth to pull a substantial number of teeth. In the few days leading up to the event, my mother kindly explained to Andrew that the doctors would be putting him to sleep to perform the surgery. She told him that the doctors might ask him to count backwards from 100 and before he knew it, he'd be out cold. "So," she asked, "can you count backwards from 100?" "Yeah," he retorted. "100, 99, skip a few, 1." Now that's one smart kid.

Welcome.

I would like to take the time now to cordially welcome this precious establishment to Northern Utah. My dearest sentiments are passed your way. Granted I'll be leaving the area shortly, but this place of fine dining will be welcomed just as warmly now as it would have been 4 years ago (actually more so now, since I didn't touch hamburgers 4 years ago and needed the sister Lauren to convert me).

WELCOME.

And as a final note, please add carrots to that list of rude foods discussed below.

I'm famous. A nerd, but also famous.

Yo, check this out:

http://marriottschool.byu.edu/news/release.cfm?article=491

The testing center: the new dining hall.

Students love bringing food into the testing center, the trend is ubiquitous. And can you really blame them? Tests are hard and everyone needs a little sustenance to get them through that long examination.

However, it shouldn't be hard to understand that certain snacks are more appropriate for the testing center setting than others. Think it through really hard. You see, the testing center is quiet. Really quiet. Certain snacks are very loud to eat. Such snacks should and must be discarded before entering the peaceful sanctuary that is the testing center. To name just a few of these raucous treats: chips of any form, corn nuts, and . . . Subway sandwiches. First, to even get to that tasty slab of bread and meat, you have to peel through roughly 14 layers of paper, every piece echoing its crinkling noise throughout the testing center. Once the paper has been removed, each bite consists of chomping and tearing into those fresh and very crisp veggies. Not to mention the smell that wafts to all those around the sandwich eater, causing a rippling effect of stomach grumblings.

So let's desist from the chips and corn nuts and Subway sandwiches and pretty much any other treat that makes excessive noise when eaten. Next time you're at the vending machine, tempted to buy those tasty Doritos to help you through your exam, why not think about some other food form? How about like a bag of fruit snacks? Maybe one of those Chewy granola bars? Or why not just a marshmallow? Those snacks all sound lovely.

When I graduate, I'm taking a trip to Florida.

I have now been gypped of a free trip to Florida TWICE this year. Apparently it’s not meant to be. You see, the economy has been going through a little downturn, I’m not sure if you’ve heard. So two normally scheduled trips for fancy pants accountants like myself have been cancelled. The first time was understandable; I got over it quickly enough. But the second time gets a little disheartening. Oh, I’m not complaining; I am very grateful for my internship and my job. And of course my team’s FIRST place finish in the Deloitte national tax case study competition, with the prize winnings of $2,000 PER person (I’ve turned pretty hip, no reminders necessary). All that stuff is great. I’ve just decided, when this whole thing is said and done, I’m taking my trip. I’m seeing the sights. And I’m going to Disneyworld. I'll probably fill out one of those expense reports, too; just a heads up. I figure the firms can split it 50/50.

Florida can’t avoid me forever.