what should Shawn blog about today?

**fyi: whitney wrote this, opinions come from people who walked into S3 the night of March 30th**

this is really ridiculous. people littering. it's really ridiculous. i mean, people just throw stuff on the ground as if their mom is going to come and pick it up. mom's won't follow you around picking stuff up.
- Katherine Nelson

don't blog about me. no really, talk about how Jordan is confused that Shawn buys shirts with buttons on the collar.
- Jordan Crook

um... aliens are going to attack. oh, wait, what's that book? "11,002 to be miserable about" oh just go to my neuropsychology class.
- Randy

"I am a lawyer from Nigeria. Your great-grandpa has died and left you all his chattles."
- Jeff W.

hmmm... his cool shirt. I love his shirt. "doesn't he look beautiful today?"---"phrases for high rollers sake."
- Amanda

"Katherine, do you know where the peeps from your apartment are?" "yes, they are probably dead, I don't know!"
- Katherine

aubrey comes in wearing bright gold spandex - enough said.

"excuses, excuses. start singing Shawn."
- Stephanie

"why are you wearing that? yeah, let's talk about obedience."
- Jordan and Jessica

"where there is a testimony obedience is never blind."
- some homecoming Tati went to

carolyn knocks on the door. "oh you guys are having fhe.." and she runs away.

I hope you know that you are spectacular,
and it's not just because of your scrabble vernacular.
- Whitney

Katie

Katie has waited very patiently for this post. When the idea of a post for her was thrown out, she expressed some desire to see it in the next couple of hours. Unfortunately, those hours turned into weeks. Sorry Katie.
I'm not going to lie. It's hard to write about Katie because she can be summed up in five short letters: BSNRN. The ratio of those letters to other words in a conversation with Katie is 1:2. I must say though, with such a high ratio, she does a fantastic job choosing her other words and letters so that you don't notice them too much.
Katie's schedule is a little unconventional. Like many nurses, she has to throw in her share of moonlit hours at the hospital. Occasionally, that schedule has been followed immediately by church or some other event that she goes to, and people consistently comment on her being "out of it." You would be too. By the way, if the thought crossed your mind, no, she doesn't have a hang over.
Katie has a knack for loving people. She has occasionally related stories of kids she has met at Primary Children's or on humanitarian trips that are touching, both in terms of the children's trials, and in terms of her apparent care for them.
In conclusion, Katie is straightforward. I didn't know that until I recently saw a film of her speed dating. Speed dating is an interesting enough concept to me, but Katie removed any question marks about her thoughts about it by wearing a wedding veil. Awesome... awesome.

The Butterfly

I know that I've told one of you that your post would be next. Sorry. It will be after this. I had to post this story. I know this butterfly...
There was once a butterfly who wished for a bride, and, as may be supposed, he wanted to choose a very pretty one from among the flowers. He glanced, with a very critical eye, at all the flower-beds, and found that the flowers were seated quietly and demurely on their stalks, just as maidens should sit before they are engaged; but there was a great number of them, and it appeared as if his search would become very wearisome. The butterfly did not like to take too much trouble, so he flew off on a visit to the daisies. The French call this flower “Marguerite,” and they say that the little daisy can prophesy. Lovers pluck off the leaves, and as they pluck each leaf, they ask a question about their lovers; thus: “Does he or she love me?—Ardently? Distractedly? Very much? A little? Not at all?” and so on. Every one speaks these words in his own language. The butterfly came also to Marguerite to inquire, but he did not pluck off her leaves; he pressed a kiss on each of them, for he thought there was always more to be done by kindness.
“Darling Marguerite daisy,” he said to her, “you are the wisest woman of all the flowers. Pray tell me which of the flowers I shall choose for my wife. Which will be my bride? When I know, I will fly directly to her, and propose.”
But Marguerite did not answer him; she was offended that he should call her a woman when she was only a girl; and there is a great difference. He asked her a second time, and then a third; but she remained dumb, and answered not a word. Then he would wait no longer, but flew away, to commence his wooing at once. It was in the early spring, when the crocus and the snowdrop were in full bloom.
“They are very pretty,” thought the butterfly; “charming little lasses; but they are rather formal.”
Then, as the young lads often do, he looked out for the elder girls. He next flew to the anemones; these were rather sour to his taste. The violet, a little too sentimental. The lime-blossoms, too small, and besides, there was such a large family of them. The apple-blossoms, though they looked like roses, bloomed to-day, but might fall off to-morrow, with the first wind that blew; and he thought that a marriage with one of them might last too short a time. The pea-blossom pleased him most of all; she was white and red, graceful and slender, and belonged to those domestic maidens who have a pretty appearance, and can yet be useful in the kitchen. He was just about to make her an offer, when, close by the maiden, he saw a pod, with a withered flower hanging at the end.
“Who is that?” he asked.
“That is my sister,” replied the pea-blossom.
“Oh, indeed; and you will be like her some day,” said he; and he flew away directly, for he felt quite shocked.
A honeysuckle hung forth from the hedge, in full bloom; but there were so many girls like her, with long faces and sallow complexions. No; he did not like her. But which one did he like?
Spring went by, and summer drew towards its close; autumn came; but he had not decided. The flowers now appeared in their most gorgeous robes, but all in vain; they had not the fresh, fragrant air of youth. For the heart asks for fragrance, even when it is no longer young; and there is very little of that to be found in the dahlias or the dry chrysanthemums; therefore the butterfly turned to the mint on the ground. You know, this plant has no blossom; but it is sweetness all over,—full of fragrance from head to foot, with the scent of a flower in every leaf.
“I will take her,” said the butterfly; and he made her an offer. But the mint stood silent and stiff, as she listened to him. At last she said,—
“Friendship, if you please; nothing more. I am old, and you are old, but we may live for each other just the same; as to marrying—no; don’t let us appear ridiculous at our age.”
And so it happened that the butterfly got no wife at all. He had been too long choosing, which is always a bad plan. And the butterfly became what is called an old bachelor.
It was late in the autumn, with rainy and cloudy weather. The cold wind blew over the bowed backs of the willows, so that they creaked again. It was not the weather for flying about in summer clothes; but fortunately the butterfly was not out in it. He had got a shelter by chance. It was in a room heated by a stove, and as warm as summer. He could exist here, he said, well enough.
“But it is not enough merely to exist,” said he, “I need freedom, sunshine, and a little flower for a companion.”
Then he flew against the window-pane, and was seen and admired by those in the room, who caught him, and stuck him on a pin, in a box of curiosities. They could not do more for him.
“Now I am perched on a stalk, like the flowers,” said the butterfly. “It is not very pleasant, certainly; I should imagine it is something like being married; for here I am stuck fast.” And with this thought he consoled himself a little.
“That seems very poor consolation,” said one of the plants in the room, that grew in a pot.
“Ah,” thought the butterfly, “one can’t very well trust these plants in pots; they have too much to do with mankind.”
-By Hans Christian Andersen

Sara Beth

Thanks to Sara Beth, I didn't have to decide who to spotlight this week. You should all appreciate her willingness to take the hit this week, which resulted in one of you being spared.

Sara Beth is famous. She never told me about it, but apparently, she has an awesome relationship with the band Rascal Flatts. So much so, that they wrote a song about her. Unfortunately, her chance at fame through a hit song got messed up when the band confused her with someone who had cancer. Thankfully, the real Sara Beth doesn't have to worry much about cancer. The extent of her health problems is confined to cumbersome boots and defects in the way she eats her salads. If you happened to see her with a handicapped pass... it used to be legit.
Sara Beth is Arizonian. For those of you who don't know what that means, it's a mix between the words "arid" and "zoni"--two ancient indian tribes who settled in the southwest and have caucasian looking posterity. Thus, if I didn't just tell you that, there's no way you would have known.
One of Sara Beth's great talents is what I call "the familial chameleon." That is to say that Sara Beth can fit in with multiple groups so well, that they actually treat her like one of the clan. Besides her school kids calling her mom, her friends' families are so fond of her that, if you didn't know the situation, you might think she was adopted (she fits in, but she doesn't change appearances. That's would be a little ridiculous.)
So, in summary, Sara Beth is an adaptive indian of reasonably good health.

Veda

After web logging (blogging) about Katherine, I felt it was only fitting to follow up with Veda. Veda is an alien, and she is, by far, my favorite alien. The fact that she has lots of family around might throw you off, but when I saw her exposed to her kind, I knew the truth. You're probably a little bit confused; let me explain. Back To The Future is a great movie. We were watching that movie one time, and it got to the part where Darth Vader (from the planet Vulcan) showed up to get George McFly to ask Lorraine to the dance. Seeing the pure glee she gleaned from that scene made the truth apparent. Ever since then, she's been more open about it. If you ask her about this, she'll probably tell you that I'm an alien too. I'll leave that up to you.
I'm glad that Veda is an alien though. If all aliens are as good of friends to everyone as she is, I say we recruit more of them.

Little Red Katherine (in the) Hood

I'm sure you've heard the story of Little Red Riding Hood. If I spelled that wrong, I'm sorry. The tellers of stories in my childhood didn't pronunciate well enough for me to know if it was "Writing Hood" or "Riding Hood." But listen, I know Little Red _______ Hood. She now goes by the name Katherine Nelson, and she rocks. Not rocks as in rocks out to hard music, but rocks in the sense that life is a metaphorical concert and she is, metaphorically, Bon Jovi. Red _______ Hood and Bon Jovi in the same blog. My blog is like a box of chocolates....
So, did you ever wonder where Little Red Katherine Hood found the wolf impersonating her grandmother? Washington. The story is a little twisted though. When she found the impersonator she immediately realized that the wolf wasn't her grandmother. Duh. Wolves can't disguise themselves well enough to look like grandmas. But, because Katherine thought the situation was a little ridiculous, maybe even humorous, she decided she'd play along. Unfortunately the wolf couldn't keep up with her wit, so it ended up giving really lame answers about eating Katherine. As soon as those started coming out, Katherine got a sassy look on her face (remember she was still a little girl) and told the wolf what's up. The wolf realized how pathetic it had been and how much cooler Katherine was, and it moped out the door. Katherine waited in the house for a while until her real grandma came back from the village and they had tea and crumpets.

...Giiirrrrllll...

Abby Hartman

The other day, I was in a church meeting, and I happened to be sitting next to Abby. By chance my eyes caught hold of her hands and I was shocked. She has the skinniest fingers I've ever seen. Maybe some babies have skinnier hands, but factor in the length, and she might even have them beat. When I brought up the skinniness, she smiled and proudly told me they were her princess hands. She's going to be a hand model one day. She will be an awesome hand model too. For once, you'll be able to recognize the owner of the hand. (the picture is her looking with amazement at how awesome her hands are).
After thinking for a minute, I decided that Abby is an undercover princess. She's obviously not from America because America doesn't have princesses; plus, her British accent, which she occasionally lets slip, is way too good. If you're wondering about the undercover part, hold on. I'm getting there.
One time, a long, last semester ago, Abby told me that she was a hippie. That's the undercover part. But she's really good at faking you out. The way she hula hoops throws you (and every part of her body) for an extra loop that you totally weren't expecting. The result is that you have no idea whether she's a British princess, a hippie or a... I don't even know.
Perhaps a look at her background will shed a little light on the masterpiece that is Abby.
Abby claims she is from the northern part of the middle part of the midwest. Her family has Harry Potter Halloween parties, and Harry Potter is British, so it's a dead give away. I'm saying she's an undercover British princess.