and there it was.

I just knew it would be there--the envelope for which I had been so patiently waiting. Some people wait to open it in front of a crowd of friends and family, and everyone cheers when it is unveiled, but, you see, that is just not my style. I opened it alone, so that I could, well, be alone with something so life-changing before me.

Anyway, enough melodrama. For the next 18 months I will be teaching the gospel of Jesus Christ in the Canada, Edmonton mission.

(!!!!!!)

You might be thinking: What?!

I know it's not exotic or glamorous, but to expect it to be those things is missing the point. The more that I say Edmonton in my mind, the more it feels incredibly right to be there.

I'm so excited! Now I just have to wait until October 26th to actually leave, but this will give me time to gain 50lbs of insulation, so that I don't freeze to death up there.

"Oh Canada!..."

lost in translocation

Dear Tofu,

Why do you taste different when I make you in Washington than when I make you in Utah. Is it the altitude, the moisture? That doesn't make sense though. Please give me a reason. I used to love you. Now I only like you as a friend.

Sincerely,

It's not me; it's you.

just for you

Blog friends (following and non-following),

You get to be the first to know that my mission call is in the mail as we speak (or type...or I guess I'm typing; you're reading.). Meh, semantics.

In any case... !!!!!!!!!!! It's for real! Somewhere in the intricate mail system is a large, white envelope with my name on it containing my fate for the next 18 months. In the grand scheme of things, it really doesn't matter where I'm going as it does the message I'm going to be sharing with people, which is that Jesus Christ is the Savior of the world, and by following Him, we can find the greatest peace and happiness in our lives.

I'm truly, truly excited for this time in my life. And as much as I hate to admit it, I'm happy how certain things didn't work out, so that this thing could work out.

Here's to hoping for Thursday!

atrevido

My mom and I were driving home, and we saw a man with a cane who was hitchhiking. Of course, my mom--being the 60's child that she is--stops to pick him up. "Look, he needs a cane to walk; he's harmless." I, being the sensible child, immediately start to think realistically.

Obviously, that cane could be a weapon. And the next thing we could wake up to is a dark pit in a basement with someone telling us to "rub the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again."

Has no one seen Silence of the Lambs?!?

If I learned anything from that film, it is to not help people struggling with perceived handicaps or injuries because they are really just trying to make a human suit out of your skin.

Okay, okay. He was actually a harmless, somewhat incoherent, old man. Mom: 1; Tanya: 0. We took him to Safeway, and he said we could come get vegetables anytime from his garden. I'm not sure if said garden exists, but either way, we did our daily good turn...or I guess my mom did anyway.

I wish society didn't make me so skeptical.

Moral of the story: Have a little faith. Pick up a hitchhiker.*

*I am not liable for any death or injury that may result from such action.

false alarm

I think I was just getting my hopes up about the large, white envelope coming this week. Logically, I knew it was impossible. But next week....

NO EXCUSES.

Or you best believe I be making some phone calls because I've had enough heart pounding for one lifetime, thank you.

maybe maybe

Dear large, white envelope,

Pllllleeeeeease come tomorrow.

Love,

The ever-patient Tanya

i bet you won't get crunk

I take a Turbo Kick class at the gym. It's like kickboxing, except there's a little bit of a hip-hop element to it, so it definitely caters to a female audience. I always have respect for the one guy that shows up though.

Most of the routines are comprised of whatever the Top 40 songs of the day are, and in between different sets of movement, the instructor will encourage everyone to just "shake it out" or "get freaky." Most people just stand there.

In particular, Ciara's "That's Right" (featuring Lil' Jon) song came on. If you've ever heard Lil' Jon, you would know that raw, freaky quality in all of his songs. Anyway, the instructor wanted everyone to freestyle for the first 15 seconds or so before our kickboxing routine began. When most of us timid people just bounced our heads a bit, she made us do wall sits or push-ups until we would actually let loose.

Did I mention I go to this class with my mom? Yeah, that will shut down any freaky side I possess rrrrrrreal fast. The instructor made it a competition on who could get the freakiest. Guess who won? My mom. Guess who had to demonstrate with the instructor in front of the whole class? My mom.

I had no words after this. No child should be subjected to that kind of sight.

I don't care what the instructors says, I'm not "getting freak-nasty" in front of my mom. I'll take the push-ups thank you.

yeah, this just happened

DISCLAIMER: My parents are actually smart, college-educated people. I'm really hoping this was a fluke.

Scene: The Dinner Table. The conversation turns political, as it is extremely wont to do in the Milburn home.

Tonight's topic: North Korea

Dad: ...and China keeps supporting them [North Korea] down there--

Me (interrupting): Up there.

Dad: What?

Me: You keep saying "down there," but you mean to say "up there."

Dad: No, I mean down there.

Me: Dad, North Korea is connected to the northern part of China.

Mom (chiming in): No that's only Mongolia and Russia up there!

Me: Yeah, and North Korea!

Dad: You're crazy.

Me: I'll show you!

Dad (rather pompously): Go ahead!

And by the power of Google, I give you: North Korea connected to the northern part of China.

Cue: Humbling of the parents--(like a boss!)

Mom (pointing to Thailand area): I always thought North Korea was somewhere in there!

Me: *facepalm*

I just have to say that I was a freaking ninja at Ms. Ross's timed country quizzes in 7th grade social studies. It paid off my friends, oh so sweetly.

weird thing about me #43817

Sometimes I wear men's deodorant. Of course I own women's deodorant too, but most of them smell too floral-y/baby powder-y to the point of being nauseating. When this is combined with sweat, it makes for a horrid outcome: sweaty flowers--naturally. No bueno. So when I know it's a really hot day, or I'm going to work out, I use something a little stronger. (Why do deodorant companies think women don't sweat??)

That's my attempt at justifying this cross-deodorizing.

However. Because men's deodorant is more aromatic than it's female counterpart, sometimes I'll catch a whiff of some divine, manly fragrant. Then I think something irrational like, "I must find whoever just walked into the room because we should reproduce right now based on his scent alone." Or something to that effect... But I soon realize that it's myself that I'm smelling, and I am sorely disappointed for two reasons. 1.) No such male being exists at that moment, and 2.) For a brief moment, I was unintentionally an autosexual.

Yikes. I guess that means I should lay off the Old Spice.

coming out

I am a closet Ally McBeal fan. There I said it. Of course I enjoy quality comedies like 30 Rock or Modern Family or Flight of the Conchords or Psych. Of course I enjoy a good crime drama--complete with the underlying sexual tension of a male and female lead that can never be together.

But.

There will always be something about certain 90's series that I just can't resist (Dawson's Creek, anyone?). Maybe it makes me feel nostalgic. Or it could be an emotional type of masochism in order to worry myself about how old I am and how fast time is moving. I feel like yesterday I was playing "house" with Felicia dressing up and pretending we were women like Ally McBeal. Oh little did we know...

Stop this train.

Independence

Sometimes I lose faith in our legal system after verdicts like today with the Casey Anthony trial. I think it's an appropriate time for:

WTF?

Where do they find these juries?

But I feel like anti-America comments are really unbecoming. I don't agree with everything our country does, but I like to be optimistic that we can change and make things better with enough effort. I'm grateful to be a citizen of this country. I'm grateful that I can vote. I'm grateful that I can be part of a change. I'm grateful that I have rights. Maybe this is a little Pollyanna of me, but America is still a great place to live. Can we do better? Yes. But we're doing better than, say, North Korea. So things aren't as bad as they could be.

peeved

Sometimes honesty is not the best policy.

Paperwork sucks. So does waiting and wasting money.