Call Me Master Tori, Please

Grenada in the winter months is a dream. I didn’t think it could get any more perfect here, and then I stepped off the plane and felt a heavenly breeze.  The temperature is the same as it was in August, but the difference is the humidity I think. And there are some lovely winds coming from somewhere—probably Antarctica. But this weather is really crappy timing, because I don’t have much free time to enjoy it this term. Why is that, you ask? Well, it’s because I am 4 weeks deep into my Master’s in Accounting program through Texas A&M. Aggghhhh! I’m gonna be a Master! Whatever that means.

Judging from all the confused laughs I generate when I make this announcement, I better clarify for everyone what the deal is. And it’s probably just as funny as you originally thought. I have ZERO background in accounting, but I have always loved the order that comes through math and especially problem-solving. I’ll admit it—I’m obsessed with worksheets. Plus, my four years at Vivint sparked my obsession with the business world.

I considered going into accounting during my undergrad but, a parent of mine, who will not be named, told me I had too much personality to be an accountant (I can say that now that I’m going to be one, right?) and so I pursued psychology. Which, I really, really loved, but now my career options are really, really pitiful. The plan is to become a CPA. I like the flexibility of the career—I could have my own clients and work from home, or if I start getting stir-crazy, I could go work for Vivint. Or another business I guess, but I’m Vivint for life, baby.

And not only that, I just hate that I have no knowledge on the subject at all. Once we start making money in ten years or so, it’ll be so useful to know what to do with our money. And if nothing else, it will save us $250 a year from hiring an accountant to do our taxes. That’ll really add up, guys. It may cover my tuition by the time I’m 87.

The whole idea came about as I was sitting on the beach one day, drinking my Miami Vice thinking about Leonardo DiCaprio, of course, which led me to The Wolf of Wall Street. And then I said to myself, “I don’t think we are in enough debt, what could I possibly do to drive us farther into the hole?” And alas, a dream was born. They should make a Disney Channel movie about me.

I only doubt myself every hour or so. The material is pretty effing hard for someone who knows literally nothing about the industry. Almost as hard as trying to go to the bathroom in a one-piece bathing suit. And it’s completely online which is the worst. But, I have nothing but time, so it gives me the option to go over the chapters two or three or ten times.

Being back in school has really helped put me in Billy’s shoes too. Last week, I was having a really hard time and feeling overwhelmed and I worked my butt off so I could have a pool day. I was crying to Billy that all I wanted was to lay at the pool and get fat. Life goals, ya know? As he was holding me, comforting me, I could have smacked myself. Because Billy feels all that same stress times 1,000, but he doesn’t get days off. He just goes to bed and starts all over again. What a freaking brat I’m being! So hopefully, by going through this with him, I’m getting a better grasp on what he’s going through and I’ll be more understandable on the hardest days where I’m missing him. Fingers crossed.

It's also nice because we go to school together in the morning and we have much more to say to each other than:

Me: How was your day?
Billy: Good.
Me: What'd you do?
Billy: Studied
Me: Cool!

I tell him what I'm learning and what I like and dislike about it, and it's somehow easier for me to listen to him talking about the crazy scientist stuff he's learning. 

I’ve actually had this post drafted for a few weeks now, and I keep chickening out about posting it. I’m totally fine talking about farts, sex, bodily fluids, how many days I’ve gone without pooping (2), etc. But ask me about my life goals and I turn bright red and clam up. That feels way more personal to me for some reason. Billy told me about this TED talk that he listened to once. I never listened to it myself, so this is passed down the “he told me that she said” telephone line. Billy’s synopsis is that when we tell people our plans or our goals, a small part of us feels proud and feels as if we have already accomplished the task and we don’t feel as motivated to actually complete the goal. So, I’ve been waiting until I had a month of classes under my belt and that I was actually learning and passing before I told a lot of people. If you see me in 2.5 years and I’m not a CPA—blame it on this blog post. And then my Disney Channel movie can be called The Girl Who Was Almost a CPA. Riveting.

Here is a photoshoot of me trying to study.
***Disclaimer: I do not wear glasses. I wear them to make me feel smart while studying***

My grainy iPhone view from my study spot on campus.

How to Gain 15 Pounds in 48 Days

I feel like I should apologize for my brief blogging sabbatical, but since I’m the only person who probably noticed, I’m not going to apologize. Instead, I’ll bore you with the minute-by-minute details of the last 2 months.

Billy and I just enjoyed a month-long break for Christmas. Well, mine was more like 2 months. And I don’t know if you can call any vacation time I take a “break”, because I don’t really do anything to take a break from. A break from hang-drying my laundry, I suppose? Anyway, it was fabulous for so many reasons, which I will proceed to list here.

1.     For obvious reasons, we finally were able to hang out...with each other! As I’ve said before, this was the only time in our lives where neither of us had to work or study. We’ve taken plenty of vacations (as our friends like to make us feel guilty about) but always in the back of our mind is the impending doom of getting back to work or cramming for the next test.  Since Billy was in-between terms, he really had nothing to study. Although, I still caught him looking at various anatomy charts—is that normal?

2.     I was able to spend 2 weeks in Virginia, sans Billy, and then meet Billy for our month in Utah. This translates to—AMERICA! The land of the free and Target. The home of the brave and the Quesarito (I know Mexicans didn’t come up with that, Taco Bell, but whoever did, I thank you from the bottom of my heart).

3.     Nieces and nephews. If you follow me on Instagram, then you already know that I have the coolest nieces and nephews alive. While FaceTiming Billy one night, he asked me who was my favorite niece or nephew on my side. Yes, we pick favorites; don’t act like you don’t do it too. I tend to prefer the ages of 2-4, when they can talk and have their own little personalities. I don’t really know what to do with newborns, I usually get in trouble for poking them to try and wake them up so they’ll play with me. And then when they hit 5, I feel like they get smarter than me and my ego can’t take that kind of embarrassment.  But when Billy asked me that question, I really couldn’t tell him. They’ve all become their own little people who are all so important to me. I think through all of them and I just smile: Sawyer (9) will just tell you like it is—like how when I gave him his Christmas present (a Rastafarian hat, complete with braids), he said “Are you just kidding?” Auntie fail right there; Caroline (9) can’t turn her brain off and it’s so fun to talk to her and see her insights into the meaning of life. That girl has got some depth; Mary Grace (6) has the biggest heart and is so empathic, it makes me want to be a kinder person. And just give her a big hug every time I see her; Emery (3) is a wild child with more spunk and passion than most 19-year olds have. She’ll either be the future president or the next cast-member on Jackass; Henry (2) has SO much energy and it’s my favorite thing in the world to make him laugh; Hadley (2) is such a curious little girl and loves to tell me what to do and dance to Taylor Swift with me (she's made it clear, I'm not allowed to sing); Sadie (1) is a pterodactyl baby, who is an expert growler and smiles ALL DAY LONG. And those dimples...I die. My sisters have raised these cute little kids who are their own people and it’s just so much fun for me to get to know them. I’m so lucky I get to be their Aunt Tor Tor.

4.     I was able to go see my 89-year old grandmother on my first visit to Virginia, and then she passed away a few weeks later and I was able to come to her memorial service. It was very sad, and especially hard to see my dad upset. But I’m so happy that she is reunited with my Granddad and I was able to see her one last time. Such a little miracle for me. And the silver lining to funerals is that it’s a time when family all gets together.

5.     I got really homesick for Grenada. 90% of my homesickness came from the fact that I couldn’t ever get warm. Virginia and Utah feel like home, of course, because our family is there. But then, said family goes to work and you don’t have anything to do, and you feel a little worthless and wonder why everyone can’t play with you all day, so you eat your feelings, which makes you feel better, because AMERICA, so you keep eating. We gradually got fatter and mort pasty white every day we stayed there. So, I was also pretty eager to get home and stop eating! It was very apparent to us that we were just visiting as we saw everyone else’s lives going on without us. Grenada is our home now, and that was an important realization to make. I don’t think I would have discovered that unless we left for Christmas break because I’m the type of person that needs something shoved in my face before I make connections.

6.     Speaking of having stuff shoved in my face, (that’s what she said)—over Christmas we were so spoiled and got so much STUFF. And now that we are back, I realize how much I don’t need ANY of it. I’m quite annoyed at myself. Yet again, I brought way too many clothes back. But I only got 2 new swimsuits, which is progress for me. Down here, I’m known as the girl who has 30 swimsuits. And that’s only if I’m matching them—I rarely have the same color top and bottom on. I figure, some girls have a shoe problem, my problem is swimsuits. Doesn’t matter if it’s Mossimo or Michael Kors. (Okay, I only have one Michael Kors and the rest are Mossimo.  I’ll stop acting like I’m rich or something).

Now that we are home, my favorite purchases by far are our HydroFlask insulated water bottles. You guys, I don’t even understand how they work, but they are MIRACULOUS! Billy and I keep testing them to make sure the water hasn’t gotten warm yet and they are always ice cold. We went to the beach the other day and had left the bottle out in the sun. I couldn’t even pick it up, because the outside was so boiling hot. Billy braved the first drink, and the water was still as cold as if he had pulled it out of the fridge! Technology, man.

7.     It took me almost a week, but I finally got adjusted to driving on the right hand side of the road. And now that I’m back in Grenada, I’m all messed up again. They really should not be letting me drive in either country.

8. We were able to go skiing (remind me never to go to Snowbird again--way too steep for these weakling legs); swim at the Homestead Crater; go ice skating after we realized the Midway Ice Castles weren't open till January--my bad, guys!; stay a night at the Little America; do a live session at the SLC temple (first for Billy); see the temple lights with almost the whole family; go down to St. George were it was a balmy 42 degrees (Billy still went golfing, but I need at least 70 degree weather to golf); watch a lot of movies; see the aerials at Deer Valley; go to Cafe Rio 5 times; and play a whole lot of 8 Ball Pool on our phones.

Can I get something off my chest now? It’s really been bothering me. What is the deal with the fountain drinks that all come out of one nozzle? It makes my drinks disgusting! They are taking over America and no one seems to be upset about it! You guys don’t understand how hard it is to go without fountain drinks and then come to the first gas station I see once I’m in America, and then my Diet Coke is poopy. I may have gotten low-maintenance about a lot of things in Grenada, but when I step off that plane and go through customs, I expect to have a perfectly concocted Diet Coke. And I don’t think that’s too much to ask, America.  

Overall, it was a successful break, and we are both 15 pounds heavier and settling in to second term quite nicely.

Do you KFC? Billy sure does.

Being apart blows, but it makes for some good Ambien photos! 

Emery and Hadley. They both kept saying "It's showtime!" 

Hadley girl after hiding from me behind the cushions. Not to be mean, but she doesn't pick the best hiding spots.

"Tor tor, you're my best friend." 

With my beautiful Gee-gee.

The Griffith and Morris Family

Not in the mood for selfies, I guess.

Billy went to the beach with some friends and got to hold a sea turtle. I cried real tears when he told me that night. I love turtles.

Celebrating my birthday with my Grandy. Hopefully our children get his tall genes.

Spent 24/7 with this gal and it still wasn't long enough.

Sweet little Marlee girl. 

Just your typical morning with Asher.

AMERICA. 

Motley crew. 

Jet loved ice-skating. I would too if a cute girl would carry me the whole time.

Blades of Glory

See that form? 

Snow!

Winner, winner, chicken dinner.

Muchas Gracias

I don’t think Thanksgiving has ever meant so much to me, until this year. The only reason I’ve really liked it as a holiday in the past, is because I get time off from school or work and I'd usually book a kick-ass trip. Cabo, anyone? And then school is out a few weeks after that.  It’s more of a stepping stone for me to get to Christmas. It makes me think of Jesus’ red-headed stepbrother who hates Indians. It's been baffling me by how mushy and pleasant I’ve been this holiday season, because I currently have the least amount of possessions I’ve ever had, no money in my bank account, and I’m extremely far away from my family and friends. I almost never see my husband, and in case you haven’t noticed, American Thanksgiving is an AMERICAN holiday and we don’t live in America. Hence, no Thanksgiving break. Billy took a few hours off from studying so we could go to dinner at a local resort and then play at the beach after. I had crappy, overpriced pizza and it didn’t feel like Thanksgiving in the slightest. So why do I feel so sappy and appreciative for my life on this year in particular?

Because: no shoes, no shirt, no problems! Everything in life can be tied into a Kenny Chesney song. Everything.

I’m gonna shoot it straight with you now, I absolutely love living in Grenada. A lot of people out here have a really hard time living on this rock, and I try to commiserate with them, but I have fallen madly in love with the place. Sure, it sucks that we don’t get all the modern American amenities. But I think that’s part of the reason I love it so much. My perfect self is not into money and things—I’m into experiences and relationships. (Let’s also keep in mind that my ideal self sails around the world with her family while being a yogi master and living off the land.) But somewhere along the way, I lost those ideals and became a shopaholic. And I feel that I’m getting rid of my selfish materialistic nature little by little here on this island. And learning to live in the moment. There are freakishly hard days where I just want to punch our lovely concrete walls or amputate my limbs because they are infested with bug bites. But most days, I feel so content with who I am and where I am, it’s such a strange feeling. Especially for someone who has been whining for a baby for her whole married life. I’m actually a little bit nervous to go to the States over Christmas break because I’m worried that I’ll revert back to my old ways pretty quickly. I’m also nervous to drive on the right side of the road again. And for temperatures below 75 degrees.

I think our situation before this really set me up to be obsessed with the Grenada. We were lucky enough to live with my parents for a while and then with Billy’s parents after that. They were both amazingly generous to let us mooch off of them while we saved money on rent to save up for med school go on fun trips. By the time we moved out here, I was ecstatic just to have our own place. It doesn't matter that it’s the tiniest apartment out of all the apartments I've seen here. It’s ours! Not that living with the Strongs and Griffiths wasn’t just delightful. My parents were supposed to be empty nesters, but they sacrificed that alone time to go on a lot of double dates. Billy’s parents were also supposed to be empty nesters, but we moved in just in the nick of time to spare them the loneliness of such a fate. It was sort of wonderful to interact with all of our parents as a fellow married couple—it’s a different relationship and I’ll be forever grateful for that time we had with them. And for the money we saved on rent. But after 3 years of mooching, it was high time we grew up and learned how to fork over some rent money and live on our own. Yes, I know, it’s not even our money, it’s all loans, but hey that’s progress for us!

Also, I never bought groceries before this, because I never cooked before this. So, everyone complains about how expensive the groceries are here, but I never knew what things cost before this, so I have nothing to compare it to. Blind gratitude, dude.

Speaking of loans, we are in one of the most unique financial situations we’ll ever find ourselves in. All of our SGU friends without children get the SAME EXACT AMOUNT of money for loans. What other time in our life will we be friends with people with the same amount in their bank account as us? (This may be somewhat of a stretch since we are the least responsible with our money. But at least, we all STARTED with the same amount this term.) I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—these chicas know exactly what I’m going through because, on paper, our lives are the same! It takes out the nasty "Keeping up with the Joneses" comparisons that seems to come second nature to me.

I think what I’m trying to say with these random points is that I’m starting to understand why those in third world countries are the happiest people you’ll ever meet. They don’t have a lot of stuff and so they value what’s important. We had an enrichment activity at the church (guys, I now attend enrichment. WTF) where we had a “bonfire on the beach” (firewood was wet, so we gathered around flashlights at the church) and sang our favorite hymns. In case you ever want to make the whole Relief Society cry, go ahead and plan this same activity. One of the Grenadian sisters told us that her favorite hymn was “Because I Have Been Given Much”. She explained that it spoke to her because she has been given so much through the gospel of Jesus Christ and she felt so privileged with this knowledge. This sister probably had the least amount of belongings in comparison to any of us in the circle. And her favorite hymn was “Because I Have Been Given Much”. If that doesn’t define Thanksgiving, I don’t know what does. I hope I’m as cool as she is when I grow up. And let’s just pretend that I didn’t throw a tantrum the other day because all I wanted was some sour patch kids.

Thanksgiving dinner at La Luna

Post skinny-dipping :)

This Christmas is the first time in our marriage that neither of us have any responsibilities (at the same time) for a whole month. So much free time with this stud. 

St. George's baptismal font. The best kind.

Cynophobia

I’ve recently developed a fear of dogs. A sweaty palms and pits, heart palpitations, fight or flight reflexes (I’ve discovered I’m a flight kind of girl), adrenaline rushing, type of fear. I’m very used to being made fun of for my random list of terrors: birds, cats, squirrels, mice, and now dogs. Why can’t I be afraid of spiders and snakes like a normal person? The only people I know that are afraid of dogs are children who haven’t been around them enough or have had a bad experience. And even then, they all seem to grow out of it.

My nephews used to be terrified of their cousin Bruizer (an American Staffordshire Terrier), and it is quite entertaining. Jet couldn’t speak very well at the time, but he would be strolling along until he noticed Bruizer within 100 feet. And then he screeches to a halt. You could see his eyes get huge and his little brain start working triple time. You just knew that he was planning out his escape route. It was genuine fear, and I am ashamed to say that I would set him up in situations with Bruizer just to see his cute panicked reactions. Just to clarify, Bruizer would never harm a fly. I know dog owners that lead with this usually have mean dogs, but I’m not even his owner. I think Jet was in his path once when Bruizer was spastically going after a laser, and he knocked him over on accident. But it was game over from there. So, I would help Jet start to face his fears by coaching him through petting his tail and working up to his face. As soon as he saw those big teeth though (Bruizer is the most smiley dog I know), he would retreat back to his corner and scowl at his cousin.

I’ve decided I’m now getting the bad karma from taking advantage of Jet’s terror. Because, Jet is now completely over it while I’m all of a sudden shrieking in panic when a puppy wags his tail at me.

The reason behind this newfound fear is all to be blamed on Grenada. And driving a scooter in Grenada. There are hundreds of dogs here, called pothounds. The most fitting definition of a pothound I could find is “a mongrel dog”. They all look like they are flea-infested, and carrying 13 different diseases. I even saw one dog that had gross, long, saggy teats accompanied by a nice pair of droopy balls. Yes, my first hermaphrodite dog. Do yourself a favor and DO NOT GOOGLE THAT! Nightmares.

You know that feeling you get when you’re running up the stairs from your basement, convinced something is chasing you, but you can’t look back or else you’re gonna die? Try being chased by an angry mutt while driving a scooter. It’s way worse, I promise you. I’ve been classically conditioned to dread seeing dogs. I started sweating bullets when I saw a rock that looked like a dog. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I hadn’t been t-boned by a dog while on a scooter with my friend Mika back in Utah. The little bastard came out of nowhere and was at a dead sprint when he rammed us like a bull. It took all of Mika’s effort not to crash us and we just kept driving. I’m not confident enough in my scooter driving skills to know that I would survive another attack like that.

I abused my husband yesterday because of it. I actually hit him. He thinks my panic is funny, I guess, so I had to teach him that it’s not a laughing matter (we have a really healthy relationship). We passed a pack of dogs and he slowed down and started whistling at them so I would get nervous. I punched him in the side as hard as I could and called him a dumbass. For the purposes of this blog, there were not any f-words placed in front of dumbass that I can recall. But if there were, they were deserved. (So, maybe I do sometimes react with fight instead of flight). Fear brings out the worst in people. Good thing I couldn’t reach his face, or he would have a black eye right now.

Don’t try and tell me that it’s so much worse on a mission, because Billy told me how bad it was in Mexico City. The difference is that for some reason, they love chasing scooters. They may be completely friendly dogs when you drive by in a car or jog past them. But scooters bring out their aggression, I swear. The dogs on Billy’s mission were treated like crap. They were constantly being abused and tormented. People would throw rocks at them. As a missionary, if a dog started to get too threatening, he would just bend over to pretend like he was picking up a rock and that would send the dogs running away. I think it’s the same story here. But I’m at a disadvantage on my scooter because I can’t really take my hands off the handlebars. I could try and kick at the little buggers, but I’m pretty sure I would just topple over, or they would bite off my leg. I may need to learn how to drive with one hand on the gas and the other on a machete.

So, this whole blog post is to get my readers to pray that I don’t crash my scooter and get eaten by a Grenadian pothound. And pray that I don’t murder my husband for tormenting me.

And to show that there are people crazier than I am, please watch this video. I first saw it in my Abnormal Psych class and it was that moment that sealed my fate from ever pursuing a career in Psychology because I couldn’t stop laughing. I still can’t. The funny stuff starts at 30 seconds and goes until about the 2 minute mark.

And here is a picture of my dog bite. Just kidding, this is my scooter burn and the reason I look like a gimp in most of my pictures. Do you know how hard it is to keep a burn clean when you are always going to the beach? I mean, my life is just so hard sometimes.

 Enjoy your breakfast!