The End of an Era [even if it was rather short]
August 23, 2008
Tonight marked my final round of Commando in Maryland this summer. Considering the fact that I brought this blessed game from BYU to my Womb State, it was kind of like saying goodbye to the kids as they toddle off to their first sleep-away camp. Oh, won't that be an adventure...

Anyway, weird sentiments aside, I know I've made a great many teenage boys [and a couple of adventurous Glamazons to be] extremely happy. After all, this game is pretty fantastic.

Part Hide-and-Seek, part Baseball, and all battle scars, Commando is basically the greatest game I've ever played. It's relatively simple:

  • There is, in fact, a Commando [ie. "It"]. This Commando picks a vantage point in whatever area you're playing in, and picks bases from this point [they're not allowed to move from that spot during any point of the game]. Generally, the Commando picks three or four bases, which can be anything from a tree to a bench to a parking space line. ANYTHING.
  • Once the bases are established, the Commando closes their eyes and counts down from a number [generally between four and ten]. While the Commando is counting down, everyone else playing is running like the dickens towards the bases. However, when the Commando stops counting, their eyes are opened and they're now searching for anyone who hasn't successfully hidden themselves. If you're spotted by the Commando, you go back to the vantage point and start ALL OVER AGAIN! If you evade being spotted, you are safe to continue. Once the Commando has sufficiently combed the area, they begin counting again.
  • The object of the game is to tag ALL the bases [in one particular order] without being seen. Once this is accomplished, one must tag the Commando without being seen in order to become the next Commando.

Not at all confusing.

I remember learning about Commando for the first time. I was taking a walk one night on campus with a couple of my roommates. We were walking by the JFSB when all of a sudden, like four people dressed in black pop out of thick air [since thin air really couldn't hold a person], running like the PoPo caught the scent of the Border on their clothes. Curious, we found the source of the Ninjacity...thus, Commando was discovered.

Since then, I've been an unstoppable Commando enthusiast. If you don't believe me, I'll show you some of my battle scars from dropping on asphalt, jumping into thorn bushes, falling down hills, and other such daring feats. Seriously, just ask.

posted by Gwennifer at 8:08 PM | 1 comments

Sheesh, you don't update four times a day, and look what happens.
August 16, 2008
You get pegged by people who think you have too much of a life. Thanks bunches, friends. I wasn't aware that my sparse updating upset you that much.

As it is, I just got back from a week at Bethany Beach with the fam, including John, Trina, and their adorable spudlet, Melanie. On top of an exciting week of beaching, eating, napping, and way too much Edward Cullen, I just got home from a rigorous game of Commando, so a more thorough update will have to take place tomorrow. I honestly think I'm about to experience kidney implosion due to immense exhaustion.

Until then, adieu, Fair Readers. You will hear from me again soon...ish.

[August 18th, 11:11 AM (make a wish!)]

Ok, so it's not exactly the tomorrow of the last time I posted. At least I'm here! But, before I launch into my promised description of my entire last week, I'd like to ask the blogging world a question:

Why do people make wishes on specific symmetrical times? I mean, what is so special about 11:11 or 3:33 or 9:99? If you make a wish, does the OCD fairy flutter down and give you the desire to straighten things? Do you start looking for the balance in everyday objects, eventually leading to finding balance within yourself, thus planting in your soul the desire to become a Buddhist monk? Whatever this mystical time is supposed to do, it seems awfully silly to me.

Now that we've taken care of the ludicrous portion of our program, we can now move on to today's topic:

MY TRIP TO THE BEACH

On Friday last, my dear brother, along with his lovely wife, Trina, and their two-month old daughter, Melanie, touched down at BWI. My mom and I retrieved them before I party harty'D over to Chipotle for the night. This was somewhat distressing, as the entire evening at home was dedicated to a slew of family and friends teeming to see our guests. While everyone else was snarfing pizza, I was asking every customer if they were POSITIVE that they didn't want anything to drink with their burrito. However, as luck would have it, my manager is a good person and let me off early so I could go to the church and play basketball. I was one mad hot mess by the time that evening was over.

The next day, we packed half the house into three cars, and began the long pilgrimage to Bethany Beach. The contents of our caravan included Mom, Dad, myself, John, Trina, Melanie, Bonny, Ryan, Grayson, Thatcher, and a container of homemade yogurt. After fighting through unethical amounts of traffic, we were able to make the trip in about six hours (it should have taken two and a half at the most, but what the heck, that's practically a blistering pace for my family). While driving, my Dad and I had the "Fun Car" [meaning we weren't the suckers that got stuck in the car with the tape deck], so we were able to rock out to things such as "The Beatles: 1962-1970" Parts 1-3, Swedish acapella, and the Andrews Sisters. Good times.

Upon reaching the house, we learned that not only was it NOT a "short drive from the beach" [as was promised in the description], it was also on the third floor of the building [meaning getting the strollers down to the street was a SCREAM]. But, the interior definitely made up for it, as well as its handy closeness to a golf course, the pool/tennis courts, and a park that the kids fell in love with. The inside was nice; because of my unmarried status, I slept on a couch that pulled out into a trundle bed [I kept the trundle packed away for the sake of convenience]. Good gravy, the benefits of having my MRS are piling up faster than the Italian soccer team's dirty sweat socks.

The week became a lovely blur of activities including beach going, tennis playing, Fractured Prune eating, Olympic watching [GO PHELPS!], Wii playing until the wee hours of the morning, and, of course, Edward Cullen-ing. I finished Eclipse on the way to the beach, and was quite pleased to discover that Bonny had brought Breaking Dawn with her. I basically brought it everywhere, trying to finish it before her. I know that I was totally down on Twilight [which, in my defense, is still a cruddy book, as is New Moon], but I legitimately semi-enjoyed Eclipse. I will give Mizz Meyer credit for writing an enjoyable book in the form of Breaking Dawn. If Bella had been a vampire all along instead of a stupid whiny teenage girl, I might have enjoyed the series just a little bit more.

Anyway, vacation was splendid. Getting to spend time with the fam [including the boys, even if I did have to kick them out of my room every five minutes] is always a blast, as it getting to experience a brand new set of couches for a week [I love a good couch]. While I do prefer winter vacations, I do like a good summer getaway from time to time [minus the sand].

Because I don't feel like detailing every second of every day we were there, I hope this will suffice. Be sure to tune in next time as I explain the intricacies and magic that is COMMANDO.

Until then,

--Gwen
posted by Gwennifer at 10:24 PM | 1 comments

What is this?
August 5, 2008
A little birdy whispered in my ear today [rather abruptly] that I'm supposed to be posting more. Apparently, my life shouldn't be withheld from my avid readers for more than about 12 hours at a time.

Therefore, I apologize, Readers. I should have been more considerate.

Now, I believe there were a number of topics I promised to share my thoughts about. Not really knowing if one has particular precedence over any of the others, I think I'll discuss the magical properties of the wonder drug I've been feeding into my system for the past week: PREDNIZONE.

Almost a month ago, I went along with the Odenton Ward to the holiest of all teenage Mormon girl gatherings [no, not EFY on the BYU campus]: Girls Camp. I felt that all my years of fun and shenanigans deserved some work in return in the form of unconditional love and endless patience for dirty dishes. I quickly learned that there was a lot more of the latter going on than the former, but it didn't frazzle me too much. As long as my little sunspots had a good week, that's all that matters, right?

Oh, how wrong I was. Thinking that just because I've been immune to poison ivy for the past 19 years of my life meant that I was basically set until my dying breath, I unwittingly accompanied the girls into the woods on multiple occasions in capris instead of the recommended parachute pants to collect firewood. You can imagine my horror when the "mosquito bites" on my legs a week later wouldn't go away.

By the time an entire seven days since my excursion into nature had occurred, I came to the dreadful realization that I had, in fact, received my first case of every camper's nightmare. The itching had spread from the hideous rash on my knees and shins to up my arms and around my left eye. I felt sort of bad for the customers I had to serve at Chipotle. Here I was, all itchy and spazzing, hovering over their food with a swollen eye that made me look like I'd try to show Chuck Norris a thing or two about good sportsmanship. Honestly.

To make things worse, the unquenchable itching was very soon accompanied by another alarming symptom: my legs had begun to swell. I seriously resembled the Elephant Man. Better yet, I looked like the Elephant Man if he'd gone on a pretzel and ocean water binge.

When we saw that the poison ivy had no intention of leaving my body, my mother got serious and sent me to the doctor. Having never actually taken myself to a doctor's appointment before, I was mightily surprised to find out that the first thing they wanted me to do was urinate into a cup.

Me: "Um, did my mom mention that my knee was swollen*, and that I might have soft tissue damage?"

Doctor I'm-Going-To-Treat-You-Like-A-Moron-Even-Though-I'm-Only-A-Lab-Assistant: "Just leave the sample in the bathroom and go back to the waiting room..."

*[I also went in to see the doctor about my left knee. I had fallen on it during a game of Commando about a month prior to my visit, and the swelling had yet to diminish. My left leg resembled the bloated carcass of an antelope left in the sweltering African sun.]

After what felt like an eternity, Dr. Slepian [sp!? What kind of name is that?!] finally condescended to see me. Before seeing him, I stepped on to a scale, which promptly lied to me about my current weight, before sending me to wait an additional 15 minutes alone in the examination room. When the man finally arrived, I rattled off my nightmarishly long list of symptoms, hoping one would impress him enough to operate on my central nervous system [you have no idea how bad the itching was]. However, even after the list had been completely rattled, the best he could give me was...Prednizone.

How on Earth is one cycle of pills going to take care of all my symptoms?, I thought in a voice reminiscent of those horrible home pill delivery service commercials. The good doctor claimed that this little baby could knock out the swelling, the rash, AND the itching in 8 days. Hardly willing to get my hopes up, I filled the prescription and hoped I wouldn't acquire the dreaded "Moon Face" [apparently, long term Prednizone users get these swollen faces...gulp].

Much to my delight, my legs are now completely the right circumference, the itching and rashiness is relatively gone, and the aftertaste isn't all too bad [if you don't mind the taste of Satan's armpit]. All in all, kudos to the good doctor and Prednizone, the I'm-10-times-stronger-than-any-Aspirin-they'll-ever-sell-you-legally wonder drug.

There you go, Readers. I hope my run in with big bad Mother Nature has taught you all the importance of keeping the chiclets indoors and on drugs.

--Gwen
posted by Gwennifer at 11:35 PM | 2 comments

Because I've apparently missed the Blogging Boat
August 3, 2008
Well, didn't I think I was the Cool One for having a Facebook? I'll tell you what, that's where I thought all the flyest of the fly would be hangin'. But, as perusual, I was mistaken, as the entire face of the planet has migrated once again to the happy little land of Blogspot.

Now, I've had this little blog since like 2005, thinking that no one actually used this site. But, a couple of months ago, I started getting pegged with all these questions:

"Do you have a blog? Everyone who's anyone with a baby has a blog!"

"How can I know about your life if you don't have a blog? What are you, some kind of antisocial?"

"Why would I actually want to talk to you if I can just read your blog?"

I realized at this point that I needed to revive my fancy and sophisticated blog for the sole purpose of people catching up on the infinitely gratifying institution known as My Life.

Well, now that that is out of the way, I think bulleted lists are a great way to get the ball rolling with what's been what in my life since I last visited Blogspot. Without further ado:

  1. My name is Genevieve Busch. As far as a cute pseudonym like "Gwennifer" is going to get me on the Internet, I think it's alright for the general populus [sp?!] to know my name by birth. So, there it is.
  2. I've always written this way while blogging, so please keep the "You sweat Abby's writing style" comments to a minimum. The fact of the matter is, she and I are the same person. We're supposed to sound alike [even if she does have natural comedic excellence in her favor. Alas, alack, maybe I sweat her...just a smidge].
  3. I'm currently back home in [wouldn't you like to know?], working to earn money so I can return to my beloved BYU. Oh, Brigham Young, you're so full of Cougar Blue majesty.
  4. I'm majoring in Theatre Arts Studies, emphasizing in Directing. The original plan was to major in Acting, but then I learned that most actors [at least at BYU] are either extremely talented or fruitier than Toucan Sam. Not wanting to fight over the feather boas in the wings, I've decided to take a backseat in the play production process while still taking all the credit for the two hours of joy I'll bring to the masses.
  5. In order to obtain the money to pursue a career that will inevitably leave me broke beyond anything ethical, I spend a large portion of my time at the local Chipotle Mexican Grill as a cashier. At $7.75 an hour, I've found that more often than not, people try to get really sneaky with their Guac. "Oh, let me get just a little guacamole on my triple steak burrito." Do they honestly think I'm not watching? That's another $1.65, you Avocado-sniping weenies.

I think that'll do for now. In the future, look for my opinions and views on other topics of dire interests [ie. "Twilight", probiotics, cat hair, Prednazone, being cold, etc.]. I may even put some of my famous videos up so everyone can shake their heads while wondering why on Earth the musings of a 19-year old itchy person should interest them.

All the same, thanks for reading. I look forward to blogging with everyone :]

--Gwennifer

posted by Gwennifer at 9:22 PM | 4 comments