The South will Rise Again.

vs.

The long trek is complete. After driving more than 2200 miles, I have safely returned to the motherland. And gained a greater appreciation for my picturesque southern scenery. No doubt about it--Faulkner, Twain, Welty, and Williams were truly genius.

I've just consumed my first of many glasses of 'Missippi' nationally ranked purified tap water. Oh, how I've missed you.

B.F.F.s

Dear Dani & Keith,

Today, as a direct result of consistently driving for the past 15 hours, I too heard a song that I would like to dedicate to ya'll. I think the lyrics speak volumes. Quite complex and inspiring.

Here it goes...

I got my sights set on you and I'm ready to aim

I have a heart that will never be tamed

I knew you were something special

When you spoke my name

Now I can't wait to see you again

I've got a way of knowing when something is right

I feel like I must have known you in another life

Cause I felt this deep connection when you looked in my eyes

Now I can't wait to see you again

The last time I freaked outI just kept looking downI st-st-stuttered when you asked me what I'm thinking about

Felt like I couldn't breathe

You asked what's wrong with me

My best friend Leslie said "Oh she's just being Miley"

The next time we hang outI will redeem myself

My heart it can't rest till thenI can't wait to see you again

I got this crazy feeling, deep inside

When you called and asked to see me tomorrow night

I'm not a mind reader but I'm reading the signs

That you can't wait to see me again

I got my sight set on you and I'm ready to aim

oh oh oh oh oh

I - I can't wait to see you again

I love ya'll.

Entreprise.

Appearantly, there are 24-hour Kinkos.

Quite innovative, if you ask me.

I've got this thing for any business that is ready and willing to commit to a 24 hour schedule.

At 2:00am last night/this morning, Dani & I set out for our paper printing excursion.

Being blissfully ignorant, I bet Dani $5 that these hypothetical Kinkos' hours simply did not exsist.

Our first destination, the Provo Kinkos, was lit and I had my wallet ready to pay up.

Fortunately, we walked straight into the locked door; unfortunately, the sign directed us to another location, Orem.

The verdict= no one paid anything.

I concluded that I have never been involved in a bet where one party was 100% correct. Somehow, someway, there are always exceptions to each side. Ie: The Provo building was closed, yet the Orem building was open. So, who is correct..? They always end in a draw. Man, what a paradox. Moral of the story: gambling sucks. Unless you are an MIT braniac named Jill Taylors (Kate Bosworth's character in 21). Along with scamming the casinos, you'll also aquire a steamy kiss from the attractive London-native, Jim Sturgess.

After arriving home, we discovered a dead, baby octopus on our staircase. I was convinced that it was a sticky, stretchy 50-arcade-tickets prize. Until I smelt it. Lorina, an avid seafood connoisseur, is frying little Octi for lunch today.

Oprah- You Hold the Keys to my Heart.

Oprah.

You either love her or you hate her.

Caucasian, middle class women across America worship her.

Supposedly, there's a new store which sells Oprah's old attire. The quote below symbolizes the devotion that suburbia upholds towards their beloved Oprah.

"'The feeling is, Oprah had this on, and now, I'm wearing it?' Ms. Hoy explained over lunch near the store last week. 'When you go in there, you just feel great, like you are somebody, like Oprah is touching you.' Ms. Hoy was so moved by the experience that she bought a $40 cream-colored blouse that she may never wear out of the house, mainly because of the tag, which says: 'Harpo Inc. hereby certifies that the item to which this tag is attached is a genuine garment from the closet of Oprah Winfrey'."

Although I was raised in a house without a mother who scheduled an hour aside every weekday at 4pm in order to relish in the teachings of Oprah, my generation developed a genuine love for her. And I, Hannah Shirley, am no exception.

Laugh at all you want, America. Let's be honest, though...The woman gives brand new cars to her audience members.

I am proud to declare that I am a loyal follower of her renowned book club. If Oprah says it's good, then darn it, it's incredible. It is a reoccuring joke in our apartment that she actually hires others to read the books and brief them for her.

I love her Mississippi heritage. I love that she arose from a bleak childhood. I love what she epitomizes for women everywhere.

Below, I've compiled a brief list of teachings...

EVERYTHING I'VE LEARNED...I LEARNED FROM OPRAH:

1. Empathy- I'll never forget the episode where a mother's first born child died in a car crash. She was driving to a neighbors home 3 blocks away and decided not to place her baby in his car seat.

2. Always place my children in seat belts. Self explanatory.

3. Despite controversy, I am here to clarify that, yes, you can contract STDs from hot tubs. Thank you Dr. Oz.

4. Mental illnesses are real.

5. Organization skills.

6. Tom Cruise is madly, crazy in "love" with Katie Holmes...

7. What not to wear. Fashion, fashion, fashion.

8. Live your best life.

Legends of the Hidden Temple

I was almost physically run over by a young man riding a unicycle on campus today.

Therefore, I determined that scrutinizing the wacky antics of my fellow students is the defining aspect of my college career.

It's a common misconception that BYU students are completly lame squares.

From first hand experience, I can attest that this assumption is 100% false. Some of the most bizzare, quirky people out there reside on this particular campus.

There's Cloak Boy, a freshman who stands outside the Joseph Smith Building inbetween classes belting out musicial renditions. Just recently, campus police issued him a citation for "disturbing the peace." As a direct violation of his First Amendment rights and after receing national attention, he has been granted approval to return to his post. After cloak boy's hiatus, I experienced pure elation when I heard his voice ringing through the air.

I've witnessed sword fights and juggling clowns. Gaggles of '80s dressed freshman girls. And boys decked in Sponge Bob costumes. Lest we forget, Drum Girl perched on a tree branch.

My favorite batch of individuals has to be the Medieval Club. They dress up in Renaissance dresses and sport beaded headpieces while role playing scenes from The Canterbury Tales & King Arthur legends underneath their glistening white tent.

There's even a BYU Facebook group acknowledging the medieval club member's weirdness titled, "Why am I still single when everyone in the Medieval Club has a lover?"

And it has over 150 members.

I'm only understood by mammals.

Attention: I have reached a startling conclusion.

In regards to my graphic image of the precious kitten posted on my previous post, Dani slyly suggested that I am evolving into a "cat lady."

Therefore, I feel it imperative to defend my decisions and also announce my commitment to embrace the unfortunate label.

As a young girl, I was unable to mother a kitten because of our apartment living circumstances. So, of course, it's all I ever wanted. Those of you who know me well can recall the passion I invest when sharing my story of the Papa John's kitty.

After spending many endless hours playing with the cats at my grandma's, those around me became suspicious that I might be allergic to cat hair. My cat owning history involves two characters: Sting, named after the British singer, and his literal wife, Trudy. By default, Sting came into my life when my mom was remarried to Mikey M. I could probably write a full-length story about that wretched cat & his healing powers. On my 13th birthday, Mike took me to the Animal Homeless Shelter where I selected my white-haired, blue-eyed kitten Trudy, despite my alleged allergies. Trudy turned out to be quite the vicious feline and was constantly growling because of her misconceptions that she was a dog. Supposedly, she ran away into the wild. Yet, I still firmly believe that my mother was the sole contributor to her death via our Chrysler mivivan.

With time, I developed a jaded, cynical view of these small carnivorous species. After years of despising them, I underwent a change of heart. Which I full-heartedly attribute to Loriana. And now, I can't keep my hands off the cute and furry creatures. My face cringes into that genuine look of adoration and I squeal a drawn out "awwwww" whenever kittens and I come in contact.

My 15 year old brother, Parker, always accuses me of becoming a "cat lady." In the past, this was usually followed with me screaming and slamming my door. Of course, when I perceive a "cat lady," the first image that arrives in my mind is the scene from the childhood classic, Harriet the Spy. Harriet's elderly bachelor neighbor collects cats, builds bird cages, and eats nothing but yogurt. I have an internal fear that with time, I might evolve a similar way of life. Therefore, I cling to the wise words of our former president, FDR, who once declared, " the only thing we have to fear is fear itself." Thank you, Franklin. With that said, I will continue to dream of kittens and sunflowers.

If I ever acquire an unlimited surplus of money, I do plan on hiring a prestigious scientist to breed a minature kitten. You know, a kitten that will never mature into a dingy, flee-riden cat. Why not? They do it with dogs.

Where do whales migrate?

I bought Barack Obama's inspirational book, The Audacity of Hope today.

Tommorow is my last day of classes, symbolizing my half way mark through college. Well, hopefully.

Turns out I'm wretched at Bocci, a devise game of ball throwing. Thankfully, I have other more advantegous, all-purpose skills. Such as..conning free food out of restaurant employees. Or the fact that my wet hair dries faster naturally than any one else that I know. And somehow..I never fail at finding opened snacks in my purse and/or pockets.

Here's to the night.

So, I'm pretty excited about this revolutionary blog concept. I hope that it's not simply my procrastination tendencies which are contributing to my blogging enthusiasm.

Yesterday marked the end of South of the Border week. What does this consist of? Well, basically.. Dani, Keith, Jon, and I ate straight Mexi food all week. I'll be honest though; I'm still not quite sick of it. I'm pushing for a more diverse, global embrace this week (ie: Korean, Japanese, Thai, Indian, etc.).

We attended Catholic mass at SLC's Madeliene cathedral today. It was in spanish. So, of course, Keith translated for us. It's only a few blocks away from Temple Square. It was interesting comparing and contrasting the two atmospheres.

Crystal's bridal shower was this weekend. I still can't believe that she is getting married! I am going to miss her dearly. Also, only 2 more days of school. Yay.

P.S. I do plan on utilizing this tool while in Scotland. Holla.