this deserves a post all of its own

PS Listen to Sufjan Stevens' - "Holy, Holy, Holy" and "O Come, O Come Emmanuel" in the Christmas EP Set

does anybody else extremely dislike

the new ads on websites that blowup when you accidentally run your cursor over them or that make ridiculously loud dance music? Advertising has hit a new low.

walks to campus

It's amazing who you might meet.

Nice Guys Don't Finish Last

"There is a widely held stereotype that, in the interpersonal attraction sweepstakes, 'nice guys finish last' with women. Supposedly, women want a man who will take charge and be dominant; they are less interested in someone who is kind, caring, and gentle. According to one group of researchers, nothing could be further from the truth. In three successive studies, they found that men who expressed altruism or who were described as considerate, cooperative, kind, and sympathetic were rated by weomen as more physically and sexually attractive, socially desirable, and desirable as dates than were men who appeared less caring or agreeable. By contrast, men's dominance alone did not affect women's attraction to them, although dominance did interact with men's prosocial qualities to increase attraction under some conditions (p432 Hilary M. Lips - Sex & Gender: An Introduction 5th ed)."

oh look, double blog. happy days are here again!

As an ode to the last day of class being over, here's a list of things I like:

• Friends (new and old; returning, staying, and leaving)
• Caitie is back! She's got me snapping again, and Amy and me back to our usual routine.
• Rachel VanWagoner- distant relative and smoothie friend. Good times in the past week, but leaving soon :(

• My family- goodness, I like my family.

• My mother brings me a plastic bag full of oranges, clementines, cookies, rice pudding, and echinachea, now she's talking about a family orchestra for Christmas and singing hymns before every meal. She bought Heidi a new clarinet- an instrument she hasn't touched since she was 13- for the family orchestra so Heidi can't say she doesn't have anything to play.
• My dad- "Well, she can't take it back now." regarding the Clarinet.Heidi- "This is a Christmas surprise like finding out I have cancer!"

------------------------------------------------------------------

• I have seen Scott, Amy-sister-in-law, and baby Abby more often than I probably deserve, and I think they're fantastic and oh so cute. Abby is massive and growing like crazy. She's wearing 12 month clothing at 8 months, and she smiles like heaven.
• Sisters- we're essentially the same person in a little bit of an altered form
• Heidi, the uber chic, wears earrings that look like pasta
• Hillery, the uber grandma, vintage, crazy-thing

• Little-boy-Ben who's not so little anymore, picks up Hillery and me in Heidi's car, though he's ridiculously sick and takes us to Jamba Juice even though he doesn't want anything. That boy is a speed demon.
• Extended family- ridiculously quirky but darling and know how to play some mad games.

• Foreign films and Film Series- man, I'm getting giddy just thinking of all the ones I get to watch this break.
• The new house- I'm planning all sorts of parties and festivities.
• New Years Eve: Scott's birthday and Great Gatsby/1920s/ PLUS Dance Party

• All the gifts that will be coming in the mail to distribute (or that won't because a ton of them aren't coming till after Christmas).
• New winter coat (but it's for Christmas, so I have no knowledge of it- except that I paid for half of it.)
• Christmas- even though I feel like I've lost the glimmer and glam and sometimes even the whole spirit of it, Thanksgiving was fantastic. What a lovely break. I plan on making this holiday just as grand. Thank goodness for family and even family craziness. It wouldn't be a holiday without some huge fight, makeup, then playing games.
• Reading and not feeling guilty about it (ie realizing I should be doing homework).
• Music I like (Christmas- only the good stuff, and otherwise- Neko Case is so hot right now).
• Two and a half weeks of playing (and a little working!)
  

how many quotes can we get from his mouth?

"If I'd stared at her face a little earlier in the semester I'd be macking on her after class today," guy in qotd and pointers to a friend of mine.

quote of the day

"I like when you wear blue jeans because they match your blue eyes," guy addressed in Pointers.

one thing I do like

Space Age Songs:
Beck - Soldier Jane (The Information)
Radiohead - Subterranean Homesick Alien (Ok Computer)
Beck - Movie Theme (The Information)
Earth Then Titan - Alvin
Aimee Mann - Today's the Day (Lost in Space)

In fact, a lot of the new Beck album sounds like Space, which I think is cool.

And I'm not quite sure what this is, but I stumbled upon it in my search for a space age picture. It seems like it might cool: Space Age Pop a go-go

If you have an wonderful suggestions (or even mediocre) for cool spaceage songs, please... leave one.

it turns out

that bad posture might be good posture.

Slouching

aren't you glad

when the stars align for someone else. And that someone happens to be someone whose phone calls you've been avoiding.

milk

I am by no means a guitar player. But I've been messing around with Andrea's, and I started plucking out this song on Sunday that I could not identify. Despite my questions to roommates, I came no closer to finding out what it was. I assumed I would forget the song, but yesterday when I picked up the guitar it came out again.

And, I remembered what it was. So now I can play this song along to my stereo.

Kings of Leon - Milk

thinking, acting. whoops.

Checking facebook at 8:10 this morning I reviewed the past day/night's activities on stalker-feed. Two of my guy friends had just added a guy I'd met over the weekend. One with whom I had an extensive conversation about music. I quickly clicked on his profile, scrolled to his music taste to see if what he had told me was true. Listed were bands I considered good: The White Stripes, Muse, Gosling (eh, don't know them), the Sounds, Gnarls Barkley. Nothing like the Panic! At the Disco and My Chemical Romance that this same boy had claimed he liked before. I automatically clicked on, send message. "Lies!" I wrote and sent immediately. A thought at the back of my mind surfaced, maybe this was not the very same guy I met on Saturday night that accused me of being a neo-Goth for my music taste. But I promptly shoved it back down.

Your message was sent, highlighted in yellow. I was a little thrilled with myself for making a quick decision, but decided to examine his profile nonetheless. Clicking on the link to his pictures I scrolled through each. A familiar face entered them. The same girl whose profile I visited once or twice on myspace when my ex-boyfriend told me his girl-woes. This guy was the ex-boyfriend of my ex-boyfriend's current love interest, not the same guy I "agreed to disagree with" for a few hours and throughout Oliver Twist. Return to send message: "Whoops! Scratch that."

There's something to that thinking before you act. Or looking at facebook photos before you send people messages.

6666

At 12:33pm I received my 6666th visitor to my myspace. It was Heidi. And get this: she is 6 for speed dial on my cellular phone.

dog food

I swear someone is eating dog food in the department. The microwave reeks of it.

postcards from Italy

I wouldn't mind one.

Beirut - Postcards from Italy

basket

After sushi, compliments of the oh-so-kind David, we pedaled up that incline to stalk yet another- house. Or just the house I'm moving into. We passed its driveway and turned back around to pass it once again, when what did my eyes behold-- a white basket, identical to Hillery's. "It must be fate," she said. I picked it up and assembled its parts. "What a waste of a perfectly good [bicycle basket]." (I'll give you a quarter if you can fill in those brackets with the correct quote). "They must not have wanted it. They just left it here."

So with the encouragement of my wee-sister, I have a newly acquired, free-in-some-way-or-other bicycle basket, identical to the one attached to Hillery's bike. I'm going to feel really bad if I find out one of my future roommates had a bicycle basket identical to mine.

Yeah. Really bad.

Romantic Hair

Hillery tells me I have romantic hair. What does that even mean?

sometimes

All you need is a good old fashioned dance party. When I move into my new house, there will be more to come. We can fit more than 6 people in the living room.

pointers

What should've been a study session for Psychological Statistics turned into a full-blown battle of the sexes. 6 girls on 1 boy. Our male friend- 6'5, skinny, well-dressed, buys pizza for the class, stand-up comedian, likes playing the piano, "macking", and supposedly likes classy girls- decided to study in the same room in which he learned the material- where we were having a study group. From talking about the central limit theorem to Castellano Spanish, we somehow got onto his tendency to pick up not-so-classy girls. Here are a few of the issues discussed:

1. Men in LDS culture are made to feel inferior to women- ie. general conference always praising women, pointing out problems with men: pornography, abuse, etc. As well as the mentality that it is necessary for men to serve missions in order for them to be at the "same level" as women.
   
2. It is not bad to "mack" on girl. Kiss as many people as you want. In the end you'll be happy with whomever you settle down with.
   
3. It isn't using people if all you want to do is make-out with them. The earlier a girl gives you that, the shorter the relationship. But it's not using someone for physical gratification. You've already won the prize.
   
4. Make women feel inferior, because they'll try so much harder to build themselves up to impress you (this is proven in most contemporary dating books). Those who don't fall for it are smart- or just hate you and think you're a horrible, male chauvinist. And those who do, you've got a nice short-term relationship (good for "macking").
   
5. Stupid girls are a turn off (although following the last conversation/fight they had she said, "Shut up. Dumb A**" and walked away. This same girl was "classy" according to him.
6. Every guy is looking for a classy girl. (Although he told all of the girls in the group that they were classy- let me state, he would never ask one of us out.)
   

A few definitions that need clarification:

• classy: someone who is confident, intelligent, educated, kind, well-rounded, orderly, elegant, and polite.
• Definition does not include ill-manners such as ditziness, skankiness, language that proves inability to communicate feelings, williness to "mack" at any moment, and intelligence of a 4 year old

• macking: an activity performed to a) feel secure about ones sexuality b) in a no- or little-committment relationship (if it can be considered that) c) boost self-esteem (which might work until you receive 4 am phone calls requesting the same activity. No conversation, no concern, just feeling lusted after for a good hour or so- but at least someone needs/wants you)

Heather's rebuttal:

1. Men have blamed, time and time again, this "natural man" idea. One core belief in our faith, is that we are able to overcome the natural man and with that, natural tendencies. We are capable of control.
   
2. There is a double standard that exists for men and women. Women seen as the "gatekeepers" of their sexuality are supposed to keep out unwanted advances, whereas men are "unable to control themselves." Socialization? or Biology? I go for socialization with an ever-so-slight hint of biology.
   
3. Any behavior, dating or otherwise, that is degrading to women and makes them feel inferior is inappropriate for any reason.
   
4. If you're looking for a classy girl and your actions indicate otherwise, don't expect them to come crawling. We leave that for the ones you're dating.
   
5. Your actions are a tell-tale sign of the kind of person you are and the kind of person you want to date.
   

chivalry

Chivalry is not dead, and thank goodness for it.

Seriously

Jaffa cakes are good. They are one of those things that you find a little strange: a sponge cake covered in dark chocolate with a little smear of orange jelly inbetween. But somehow the texture of sponge cake is like a squishy vanilla wafer. The dark chocolate is a fine choice. The jelly is a little odd, but gives just the perfect bit of flavor. Till you realize it's just a delightful little biscuit. Just like Digestives and HobNobs.

But now I'm missing London. That big, beautiful, turns-your-snot-black city. With its take-out Indian and tube stops around the corner. Double decker red bus stops down the street from organic cafes. Overhearing little French children in their uniforms on the underground. Adorned pastries that are secretly put on the tab of a friendly Scot. Ewan McGregor running past me inbetween shows in Piccadilly Circus. Market shopping. Cheap-sequined Indian items after watching singing, dancing, extended music video- Bollywood films. Being packed onto the train with attractively dressed people on their way home from work. Getting lost in Chelsea Finding a second home and a mother to doctor us with good food and warm beds. Sitting on the roofs of buildings. Sneaking onto locked balconies. Quality time on bus rides with baby bull terriers and furniture store owners. Walks to the National Film Theatre for James Dean movies. All African wards in the shady part of town. Record stores and used book sales on the sidewalk. Men with no legs rolling on carts to hit on us on park benches by the Thames. Giggling while reading Bridget Jones in public places. Watching, jaw-dropped at the ridiculously skinny Jim Broadbent in bellbottoms and long-haired wig. Stuffing my face with biscuits. Walking and walking till I could walk no further. Buying exotic fruit and cheese. Spending ridiculous amounts of money on things and feeling like it was no matter, the currency was imaginary. Midnight bus rides with the lit city, while hugging my bag at my side. Confidence on my own as I walked down the streets of a city that fulfilled me. City-walkers hurrying by with thoughts of their cats, watering the plants, the big fashion expo, meeting friends at the pub. Never sleeping, traffic always moving, lights in my barred window. Freedom in confinement.

Billie Holiday - Easy to Love

consider this

an addition. (not to the family. to the list... sorry)


Ok, this is borderline cheese to the cheese they sold to you at the book fair as your seven year old self. This or those car posters. Man, I even liked those.

Man oh man.

eating chocolate at 8 in the morning can lead to this:
(complete with bad captions)

Daschund dreams (minature)

Weimaraner wants (medium)

Great Diggity Dane desires (enorMous)

masquerade

There's nothing bad about a reason to dress up.

yo-yo

Until I found one in the office today, I forgot that yo-yo's existed. Let's just say that I'm sometimes an embarassment to the department.

I keep smelling smoke. Is there a fire?

intersections are great meeting places

I ran into an FHE brother today. He was chatting on his cell-phone as we crossed 7th north, chipper as usual. To his apartment he went, and me to school. In the middle of the intersection he said, "One sec," to his phone. He looked up at me in his standard sweater, collared shirt, jeans, and vans and said with his semi-Texas, semi-Australian-left-over-from-the-mission accent, "Hey, how are you? I'm sorry we had to meet in the middle of the street." I think I've found someone who apologizes as much as me, but maybe not to snowmen that you run over in Mariokart (we'll leave that one to me).

I've caught him dancing down the stairs, walking with his pelvis thrust forward in the the Provo library, and nose-flirting with the wall during the FHE lesson. When you confront him about it, "Oh, I didn't realize anyone was watching."

happy halloween indeed

Walking to the ASB, my eyes caught sight of a black, cloaked giant walking some distance from me. He stood about 8 feet tall, head bouncing along as he walked. Next to him was a 20some guy with a camcorder, recording every motion and the reactions from the fellow campus-walkers to this large fellow. I started giggling, smiling at people with whom I would have usually avoided eye-contact. Moving at a very slow, deliberate pace he made his way towards the library. People walking in the opposite direction would look up puzzled, while thinking some trivial thought about their boyfriend or engineering homework. Squirming they would head the opposite direction or maybe return the bow from the cloaked-being with a clumsy, confused bow. Thumping he walked down the stretch from the JFSB to the HBLL with me following, giggling all the way on my simple errand.

jumble

Vibrating phone in my backpack. "Please don't let it be my mom, please don't let it be my mom." We'd already had an unpleasant phone call about how unappreciative and my inadequacies, all covered by 7:45am. But it's 8:34am now, and it's not my mother ringing in. I sneakily and guiltily pull the phone to my ear. The office is dead, like usual.

"Hello..." I say hastily.
"Hey, were you asleep?"
"No, I'm at work."
"Oh... I'm calling because I wanted to let you know you were right."
"Huh...?"
"I finally realized it, but you are so right about it all. I may have an entire family that hates me, but I'm so glad I know."

I've been thinking about him lately. Just when he appears in photos or recently sent text messages or Hillery sees him at Pita Pit.

"What are you talking about?"
"I just wanted to let you know you were right about the whole 15 year old situation."

He called me quite a few Saturdays back telling me he had no plans, and asked me what I was doing. I was dating someone at the time, but I love and miss this kid and like usual I made a spot for him so I invited him to a family ward activity. Following square dancing and potluck food, he explained a saga that had taken new direction since the summer as I loaded my car with laundry. It had become a situation entangled in religion, inspiration, and trust. He told me the story as we sat on opposite ends of my kitchen table. I listened to him, but all the while tension formed as I felt he had been manipulated and brain-washed. My heart was beating, my jaw dropping, as I tried to think over this very complicated issue, rooted in an idea backed by people he loves and respects who had advised him quite differently than I had or would. I sat the whole time tense as I waited for a moment to explain. Honking repeatedly, a car indicated its desire to exit the one-way driveway to my parking lot. He ran down the stairs to move his car, me following as the conversation was cut to a mere 30 seconds. With little closure and an anxious driver ready to exit, he shouted, "trust me," and jumped into his car.

I didn't speak with him for over a month, by that point I had gone through a breakup unbeknownst to him. He didn't pick up the phone. I missed his phone call. He texted me about his visits to someone in his church. He invited me to his concert. I had a bridal shower. He invited me to a movie. I invited him to a concert. I missed his phone call. I haven't seen him for over nearly two months. He calls me at 8:34am on a Monday morning.

"You were so right." It echoes in my head. "I feel like I've been a bad friend. And I miss seeing you."

It's about this time last year where we shared a pashmina to keep our teeth from chattering on a picnic bench in the dark canyon. We spoke of long-distance lovers, London, and perception with Barnes & Noble hot chocolate and pumpkin cheesecake in our stomachs. Shivering as we realized we had nothing figured out. What good is being right when you're still lonely?

content vs. contention

con‧tent(1)  [kon-tent] –noun
1. Usually, contents.
a. something that is contained: the contents of a box.
b. the subjects or topics covered in a book or document.
c.the chapters or other formal divisions of a book or document: a table of contents.
2. something that is to be expressed through some medium, as speech, writing, or any of various arts: a poetic form adequate to a poetic content.
3. significance or profundity; meaning: a clever play that lacks content.
4. substantive information or creative material viewed in contrast to its actual or potential manner of presentation: publishers, record companies, and other content providers; a flashy Web site, but without much content.
5.that which may be perceived in something: the latent versus the manifest content of a dream.
6. Philosophy, Logic. the sum of the attributes or notions comprised in a given conception; the substance or matter of cognition.
7. power of containing; holding capacity: The bowl's content is three quarts.
8. volume, area, or extent; size.
9. the amount contained.
10. Linguistics. the system of meanings or semantic values specific to a language (opposed to expression).
11. a. Mathematics. the greatest common divisor of all the coefficients of a given polynomial. Compare primitive polynomial.
b. any abstraction of the concept of length, area, or volume.
[Origin: 1375–1425; late ME (< AF) < ML contentum, n. use of neut. of L contentus (ptp. of continēre to contain), equiv. to con- con- + ten- hold + -tus ptp. suffix]

con‧tent (2)  [kuhn-tent] –adjective
1. satisfied with what one is or has; not wanting more or anything else.
2. British. agreeing; assenting.
3. Archaic. willing. –verb (used with object)
4. to make content: These things content me. –noun
5. the state or feeling of being contented; contentment: His content was threatened.
6. (in the British House of Lords) an affirmative vote or voter.
[Origin: 1400–50; late ME < MF < L contentus satisfied, special use of ptp. of continēre; see content1]

—Related forms
con‧tent‧a‧ble, adjective
con‧tent‧ly, adverb
con‧tent‧ness, noun

—Synonyms 4. appease, gratify. See satisfy.
—Antonyms 4. dissatisfy. –noun

con‧ten‧tion  [kuhn-ten-shuhn] –noun
1. a struggling together in opposition; strife.
2. a striving in rivalry; competition; contest.
3. strife in debate; dispute; controversy.
4. a point contended for or affirmed in controversy.
[Origin: 1350–1400; ME (< AF) < L contentiōn- (s. of contentiō), equiv. to content(us), ptp. of contendere to contend (con- con- + tentus, var. of tēnsus; see tense1) + -iōn- -ion]

—Synonyms 1. conflict, combat. 3. disagreement, dissension, debate, altercation.
—Antonyms 3. agreement.

Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.0.1)
Based on the Random House Unabridged Dictionary, © Random House, Inc. 2006.

over the hill

My blog has reached the 40 mark... which coincides with the ridiculousness of my craving for a certain song by the Eagles- Desperado. After listening to Clementine by the Decemberists (I also had an urge to listen to I Don't Mind, which I don't have on the work computer so to Pandora I went) I located the song on dogpile, Desperado (live) and gave it a listen. Oh for mid-life-crisis cowboys.

The Eagles - Desperado (live)

roomy

Roomy is good for things like houses but not for shoes.

oh and another thing...

Red is such a pleasing color. I think I'll use more of it.

bicycle rides

If you haven't already noticed, bicycles are in. They went out of style for maybe 12 years, in that period where you had to get rides to the mall from your mom or where you cautiously pulled a U turn from the right lane instead of the left on your driving test (whoops!). Well the days of parental escorts are over, so is living off their kitchen's supply of food (mostly that one, I still accept cookies and peaches). Onto independence. And by independence I mean bicycle rides to the botany pond to feed the ducks and bicycle rides to South Provo to bask in the glory that is early 1900s architecture (I'm not expert, it could be any year of architecture and I wouldn't know). But these days the weather is getting chilly, and it may require a sweater and a fall-weather coat. You might want to sit on the bench that says "Sit-a-spell" on 5th East. Bring your sister (or just a friend) along and tell each other secrets neither of you can hear. Admire the leaves and ride like you used to before you became too cool for bicycles.

WOD: perfidy\pur-fuh-dee\- the act of violating faith or allegiance; violation of a promise or vow; faithlessness; treachery. (this word had nothing to do with the blog but it was the word of the day)

mahgarita

I'm convinced that mahgarita pizza is about as good as pizza gets. It can be ordered all over Europe (as Ellie tells me she survived off of it) to the quaint pizzeria off University Parkway next to the futuristic Pudding on the Rice (but let's save that for another blog). The Bostonian pizza maker, in his thick accent greets you, making his pizzas in the oven just behind the counter, sauces created right in the restaurant, fresh ingredients, the smell of fresh crusts and garlic (Gahlic is Godliness- as he would say). Nick, of Nicolitalia's, knew us as regulars last winter. We declared Wednesday nights qua pizza night. Every Wednesday night, without fail, we entered the glass doors into the sponge-painted restaurants, dim lighting, sound of the Crooners, and the smell of fresh pizza.

My month-of-vegetarianism has created dilemma's for me in restaurants. The usual items I order are not vegetarian friendly. I've resorted to other options, that are surprisingly amazing. One of these is the before-mentioned mahgarita pizza with its fresh roma tomato slices. I ordered a personal pizza last night which came to grand total of about $4.87. With the brilliant blend of gahlic, fresh roma tomatoes, and fresh mozarella. Perfection. Give it a try and your tastebuds won't be disappointed. Vegetarian or otherwise.

qua\KWAY; KWAH\ preposition: in the capacity or character of; as.

elevator up

Sometimes I wish I were an obstreperous person when the elevator doors open to one woman who stops the elevator after its moved two floors. Stepping onto the already packed elevator with nearly the entire panel lit up, she presses the button for next floor. And I think... which department is on floor four? Which department is on floor five? Oh, they're both nursing.

Elevator up.

WOD: obstreperous\uhb-STREP-uhr-uhs\ adj: 1)noisily and stubbornly defiant; unruly, 2) noisy, clamorous, or boisterous.

progression

I had a dream last night (or this morning as I got to sleep in) that Heidi was getting married. Not just a cultural hall, hide the basketball hoops with fake ivy, marriage. No, a 10,000 dollars one complete with a swing band, hot pink bridesmaid dresses, and a huge reception center (that still kind of resembled a gym). Heidi didn't wait. She has always told me how she needs to know someone for at least 6 months to a year before she marries them, but she waited only 2 months or so. I was so happy for her though, and I knew it was right. But there was a twinge of jealousness.

The more I think about marriage the more it scares me. I can't imagine so many things that are happening now without the person I want to spend my life and eternity with, but I also can't imagine having that someone who wants me all of the time and who thinks as highly of me as I think of them. I'm stubborn. I don't give in. I fight about silly, trivial things. I'm a wreck. I'm a stress case most days. I love and hate people. I become easily annoyed. I talk all the time. My mind is always stuck on one issue. I'm insecure. I never feel like anything is good enough. I'm stiff. I say too much. I'm skeptical. I'm hopeful. I'm a hopeless romantic. I'm a cynic. I don't even know what to make of myself. I feel like I could always do better or be better. But I suppose that's life. You realize your insecurities, but you love people regardless. You begin to mature and give up things that are trivial and annoy you, or you deal with them in the best way possible. Marriage is no small matter, and I find myself and others pressured into something that has both temporal, physical, spiritual, and eternal significance. It is not a light decision, and it is not a light commitment.

I look to certain couples as exemplars. Living together and loving each other in sincere and honest ways. It is these couples who make me giddy with anticipation about the ups and downs of a partnership, and I just love the purity of a relationship that is both hip and spiritual (those two don't go together very often). When I find it, I feel like I'll know (like every musical, Disney movie, and romantic comedy says). There's still a lot left for me to accomplish, be it on my own or with someone else.

WOD: exemplar- 1) a model or pattern to be copied or imitated, 2) a typical or standard specimen, 3) an ideal or model type, 4) a copy of a book or text

fashionista

In an effort to a) increase vocabulary b) remember the words with which I am trying to increase my vocabulary c) to make use of my dictionary.com Word of the Day emails d) to write in my blog nearly every day I have decided, in a revolutionary move, to use my word of the day, daily in my blog. Just inserting it somewhere in there will do. The definition will follow at the end of the entry (if it is necessary).

I might have a fetish with shopping. Accessorizing being one of my biggest weaknesses. I am no fashionista- but I do love to shop. My pickiness does not extend to only shopping at high-end stores like Nordstrom, pulling on only Rockin' Republic jeans (this is Provo, afterall. Our high-end is pretty low-end). I like any quality merchandise, regardless of location. So you might locate me at D.I. on any given evening or perhaps on a Saturday afternoon, weeding through the mess of frocks and classic style jeans. The brilliant thing about D.I. is, you never know what you'll find amidst the junk from decades past- it may give you a good giggle; it may be the very item you've been looking for for years. My favorite is the few tchotchkes you can locate after digging through the piles of discarded jewelry, once the wandering children have left the plastic watches and heart-shaped lockets for the rubber boots or board games. Take for instance the 80s earrings- perfectly vintage (yes, I think they've reached that status), in every color. Amy had it down to a science with one hand grabbing the jewelry, placing it in the cart if it was good or in a discard basket if it was bad. A half an hour later I came out with a gold and brown, flower-trimmed bangle, intricate square clip-on-earrings, shiny, pale green, rectangular shell earrings, and a gold, flower-shaped brooch. Oh the wonders of D.I.

This feels somewhat incomplete, but I feel done. And word of the day use, successful.

tchotchke (CHOCH-kuh)- a trinket, a knickknack.

attic windows

In this little attic apartment of mine there are three computers. Two that work, neither belong to me, and the one that does not (it belongs to me and sometimes it will play music if you can trick it into thinking a cd is going to be played and then secretly playing a playlist- but no music library; it can't think that hard). I am often caught sneaking into Amy's room to use the internet that may or may not be emitting rays of service. So the six of us, all of whom like to use these blasted contraptions that suck up all my time and spit out little messages on myspace, are all wanting to use one computer at some time or another. Some of us are a little more needy, checking our friend accounts repeatedly throughout the day, some just want a friendly chat with friends back home. I like both of those options so I can often be found waiting in line for the computer.

Today, I have the use of the non-mac computer, Katie's. It's a speedy little demon, it usually has a wireless connection, and it has this amazing view of the apartments to the west of us (about 10 feet away) out of a little secret window that extends about 3 feet in length and 1 foot in width directly in front of the keyboard. The paint is spread thin in some spots and on the glass in others, semi-painted nails are protruding from the wood that is warped and cracking, and there are spiderwebs extend in multiple corners with the prey that's entered through little cracks in the window. A thin rice-white checkered drape hangs awkwardly over a wooden rod attached with a large safety pin. But I like the bit of light that comes in, even though the view is white brick and 60s architecture; I can see bits of the remaining green foliage and twisting branches with a bit of non-descript sky. This weather just won't make up its mind. Sometimes its nice to have a change of scenery.

Yesterday, I switched it up. I got out of work with an hour before my first and only class of the day. Finding a bench to strattle outside the Clyde, I pulled out the monotonous Physical Science text, my ipod, and began an attempt at studying. The sun was shining on my red sweater, the ipod was choosing brilliant songs in succession-

Her Disappearing Theme- Broken Social Scene
Know How- Kings of Convenience
Punk as F&*% (a bit inappropriately titled for a song with no swearing)- American Analog Set
Agaetis Byrjun- Sigur Ros

and I felt the sunlight changing my mood by the second. The perfect temperature for an autumn day, little social interaction although people were scattered all over the sidewalk, a shout and a wave from Meg in her daring-high-heeled boots as she scurried to work so she wouldn't be late, my ipod and me with the glorious voices of my favorite artists. A bicyclist was swerving back and forth like a 4th grader with no obstacles, just the blacktop and his tires in glorious friction. He'd soon be flying down a hill with the gradual gratification that comes as you pick up speed and then reach the maximum.

The day flew as they so often do, and I found myself at the IC in the blackened theater on a Friday night. I've wanted to be there for weeks and weeks; it opened and then the time never opened up for me to go. But my season opened with the Dutch film Egg. Just under 58 minutes it captured the awkwardness of relationships, be they female-male, mother-child, neighbor-neighbor, townsfolk-individual. It was absolutely lovely. I found myself squirming with awkward situations, smiling at the birth of puppies, and laughing all along with the loveliness that is life. And I realize it's up and down, up and down, and sometimes stationary but life is often too perfect to not enjoy secret windows, moments with headphones, waves from friends, and international films.

i could use

a swim right now
a returned phone call
another teacupful of spumoni ice cream
some determination to do homework
a fast-forward to a week from now
3 chapters of my Psychology of Gender text book read
some more insight on being ecologically sound
patience
a pleasant surprise
my long lost Caitie
communication
a long weekend
a big, beautiful city
some satisfaction

I'm addicted

Broken Social Scene

Sometimes there are just brilliant cds that hit you at the perfect time. You listen on repeat, drive your family members mad by the repetition, and still no sweeter sound could enter your ears. This is broken social scene for me. It's the soundtrack to the city, a city where I wish I were. It's blasting in my ipod; I've imported it onto the computer at work; it's in my cd player at home; I'm playing it through my ipod on the stereo in the car. I can't escape it. If I'm not listening to it I'm singing it in my head or out loud. It satisfies and satisfies and brings me back for more. And I'm back again.

racing heart

Shooting down the stairs this morning and swinging open the front door, I plant my feet on the second staircase. The open window of last night is now closed; the nervousness, the anxiety, and giggling have all dissipated. But I turn left, instead of the right that will take me to the street. The left leads to my green and white bike, complete with stolen basket from my sister. I unlock the purple bike lock that chains the bike to the railing with my plastic purple light up key that guides me during late night bike rides to the Malt Shoppe.

Purse in basket, feet on pedals, I exit the driveway with the few cars that brave the 7:40 am hour as my companions. Pedaling and pedaling I find the ramp that leads to the 9 hours I will waste at a desk, on a lonely floor. Past the campus workers or the Education Week attenders, I change gears fumbling with them as I try to alleviate the struggle of the hill. What I take to be a massive feat is gradual yet painful. I can see the end where the rail that separates the walkers and the riders ends and meets the special access campus road, but my breathing and pedaling are consuming my thoughts with each heave forward. I reach the peak, riding just to the sidewalk where I give up pedaling for quivering muscles and catching my breath.

My body fatigued, legs shaking I step onto the steel, sterile elevator. My body is mimicking the nervousness of the past weeks where I've tapped into uncertaintly, naïvety, and my middle school inhibitions. Inhaling and exhaling to even out my breathing, I teeter while walking to my spinning office chair. I relieve my lightheadedness with peanut butter granola bars that fill all of my daily calories and saturated fat. And breathe a little more concentratingly. But I recover, twenty-some minutes later, like I do most times I'm jittery and self conscious. I can still tap into the tinglings, the sensations of events while giving myself shivers and making my heart race like it did this morning when I rode up that hill.

how's the love life?

Who asks that question? anywhere. Especially your best friend from sophomore year's husband in front of another guy, who is married, but happens to be best friends with the guy you're pseudo-dating (?). How's the love life? "Good," in all honesty, but as he motions to my friend. I laugh at the ridiculousness of his comment. "He's married."

senses

My eyes thirst for color-changing leaves from green to orange, to gold, and red on canyon drives

For brisk nights with beautiful soundtracks, pashminas, and sweaters

My mouth sees chicken makhani

My nose tastes tamarind nectar

My hands ambitiously collect leaves for art projects

Acute senses

Sunlight streaming through my blinds

For views out my front window, where the hanging pea pods of summer have fallen and spread their seeds abroad

For concerts where cuddling is necessary to keep teeth from chattering

For late night chats

Reflecting

For childhood

For letters and packages from far away lands

For the unsettled stomach

For procrastination

For death cab for cutie and RedFest

For Greek food and Salt Lake

For redecorating

For walks around the block

For open windows and turning the swamp cooler off

For romanticism at its best

For fall

suitors

1:20 and no suitors? What's wrong with these guys anyway? -Dr. Clark

Peanut Butter and Honey

I've recently taken to peanut butter and honey sandwiches, a favorite of mine when I was a child. And a recent writing prompt made me recall many of the events of my childhood. So I've decided that writing for classes can have purpose, and now it's going in my blog. This is the beginning to an introduction for my autobiography.

Stained glass windows, cocker spaniels, large stretches of green grass, my favorite band-aid-looking swing, kiddy pools, canaries, begging mom for a few minutes more, the ghetto, humidity, sand, feet of snow, the original Nintendo, willow trees, mountains, grandparents, garages, tree forts: my mind travels through the places I love, the distinct memories of my childhood.

I was born in a St. Joseph's hospital, and carried to a recently purchased red brick one-story-above-the-ground, one-story-below (otherwise known as a basement)home with a large stretch of green grass, that band-aid resembling swing, a bright-highlighter blue kiddy pool with some duck design inside.

The cocker spaniel's name was Velvet. She was picked up as an additional member of the family a few weeks before my birth on May 14, 1986. Her black, crimped fur, silky and always shiny brandishes my memory. She was like my twin, born within weeks of eachother, she was family to me. The day she was put to sleep was a wet day. After snapping at the paperboy on his usual route, my parents decided it was time. I couldn't have been older than 8, though I want to say I was. But I distinctly remember the yard and the paperboy, both of which were located in the town I was born.

Marshfield- most people from Wisconsin don't even know where the dairy-farming community is. An acquaintence I met at college considered her familiarity with the home state and realized she had once been on a fieldtrip there when her elementary school's future-medical-related-career-interested child visited the hospital there once.

self-discovery

I've always wanted to do one of these silly things. So here is my attempt at self-discovery. If you remember something I don't, by all means tell me what I've forgotten.

Three Names You Go By:
1. Heather (or Heath, or Heath-OR)
2. feather (weather)
3. (heathen) teapot

Three Parts of Your Heritage:
1. dutch
2. english
3. danish

Three Things You Are Wearing Right Now:
1. a black skirt with a sort of muslim swirly design in light blue and turquoise with silver sequins
2. my strappy black bitty-heels
3. off-white gathered shirt (there's got to be a nme for it), peasantish(?)-goes with every skirt I own shirt

Three Things You Want in a Relationship:
1. love
2. communication
3. trust, understanding, butterflies, friendship, maturity, beauty (perhaps that's not 3)

Three of Your Favorite Hobbies:
1. traveling (learning new languages, observing, chatting)
2. going to parks (stargazing, swinging, playing games , swimming
3. listening to/participating in/attending: musical events, festivals, restaurants

Three Things You Want Really Badly At The Moment:
1. Something pleasantly surprising
2. A bo-berry biscuit from Bojangles
3. To leave the country

Three Pets you had/have:
1. Binford (my darling, overly-large-noggined labrador)
2. Daisy (my slow moving, sweet-heart of an old labrador with lots of tumors and a bit overweight)
3. Cleo (my ridiculously large, half-siamese feline, with a gray and black tabby coat)

Three Things you did last night:
1. Played ERS with Hillery at Rock Canyon Park (the bowl)
2. Went to Borders -and then decided I want to buy some books at Barnes & Noble (Nectar in a Sieve, Great Expectations, et plus) because they were too expensive at Borders, and they have those great-deal classics books
3. Looked for decorating colors at Walmart

Three things you ate today:
1. Nothing so far, it's 9:07am at work
2. a container of lemon yogurt waits to be eaten
3. a bottle of water would like to be filled

Three people you last talked to:
1. My mom, aunt Anna-Clair, and my darling cousin Kendrick (when they dropped me off)
2. Heidi
3. Hiller-illery when I told her that I wanted to kill Morissey today because she was listening to the Smiths and they were driving me crazy for some reason

Three Things You're doing tomorrow:
1. SEGO festival!
2. Eating
3. Maybe waking up in Amy's cabin

Three longest care rides:
1. NC to UT
2. UT to San Fran with my family
3. Provo to Escalante (because of the darkness, the deer, the bad directions, the highway construction, getting lost about five million times, and it taking 6 1/2 hours- 2 1/2 hours more than expected)

Three Favorite Holidays:
1. Easter
2. Christmas
3. May day (not really, but I wanted to say it cause my birthday is in May, but it is also Kaitlyn's birthday, which is cool)

Three Things You Can't Live Without:
1. mammals (that includes people I love and pets)
2. music
3. religion

Three things you like about yourself:
1. my eyes
2. my style
3. my tastes (music, food, films, etc.)

Three things you dislike about yourself:
1. spots (in whatever form)
2. impatience
3. not having a perfect memory of things

Three things that scare you:
1. stupidity
2. crazy folks
3. discontent

Three of your everyday essentials:
1. good music
2. making a mess of my room (at least once, then trying to clean it up)
3. some form of sugar

Three of your favorite bands/artists today:
1. Youth Group
2. Feist
3. Kings of Convenience

Three of your fav. songs at present
1. Gnarls Barkley- Crazy
2. Gorillaz- Tomorrow Comes Today
3. Kings of Convenience- Parallel Lines

Three new things you want to try in the upcoming year:
1. painting, decorating, and loving the house I'm moving into
2. being a psychology major
3. being a better person

Two truths and a lie (in any order):
1. I have never broken any part of my body
2. I've gotten a ring stuck on my finger and required the emergency room to cut it off
3. I love gaucho pants

Three things about the opposite sex that appeal to you:
1. adorableness
2. intelligence
3. interesting-ness (yeah, if they can make up great words like me)

Three things you just can't do:
1. Dance Dance Revolution
2. Croquet (when people are around)
3. Stop eating sugar

Three careers you're considering:
1. Clinical Psychologist
2. Mediator
3. Mother (kind of a career, I want it somewhere in there)

Three places you'd like to go on vacation:
1. Seattle, Northwestern states (most likely of the three)
2. Europe (London, Italy, Sardegna, Iceland, Scotland, France, Spain, Portugal, Czech Republic, Scandanavian countries- everywhere)
3. Australia, Africa, South America, the Orient, tropical islands (the works)

Three kids names:
1. Julia - great Beatles song
2. Lillian - Youth Group inspired, though I won't ask her to behave like the girl in the song, "Lillian lies to avoid all the questions"
3. Joel- just always loved it and one of the best books in the Bible
(there are too many I've considered, and now I can't find my list with all of the names)

Three things you want to do before you die:
1. travel the world
2. raise a family
3. figure out what I'm good at and do it

buzzing

I'm scared for the guy who got in the elevator that was buzzing really loudly.

it's hit me: that one plus one is one.

It's hit me. Full force. I stood in a circle of friends last night, and I realized I'm old. Still unable to get senior citizens discounts nor ride the scooters at Walmart, but there are sometimes sneaky gray (or maybe blonde) hairs sneaking in brown hair.

Two of my friends got engaged a day ago. The initial shock hits you head on. I should've expected it, trips to Texas immediately following Winter Semester, exclusively hanging out all the time, and the mandatory family game night every week.
And I sit in my room wondering on my twin sized bed, with an unacceptably messy room, in my halter top because I'm way too hot for anything else: how do you know? I thought it would just be completely clear. Is it? When you start leaving away messages that say "I love such and such" is that a tell-tale sign you're ready for marriage. I don't want to challenge peoples' or friends' judgement, but I guess I'm not even close to the point where I could see myself married. I'm worried about divorce, the statistics, the young lovers moving to married-couple-hood realizing they don't love eachother with 2 kids and another on the way.

I stare at one of my senior pictures. The bring-your-friends-along picture, where three of my high school friends and I are posed ridiculously around eachother. 2 of the 4 are engaged or married. I still feel young. I guess I've left the high school days, the "I can't date anyone" excuses. It scares me. I like to say it's because I haven't met the right one. That's what they force feed you in movies, in romantic stories of your relatives' past, in romance novels (not that I've read any- well I don't think Jane Austen or Bridget Jones count).

All around me I sense instability. And then my shuffling itunes comes up with Badly Drawn Boy, One Plus One is One. "Why can't you see that one plus one is one? Much greater than the sum of its parts... it's time to take the gun out of life." And Damon Gough reassures me that I'm not the only one feeling this way... "it still boils down to love. Please, give me some peace."

bad idea

late night climbing onto suitcases
with wad of paper in hand
prepared to attack spider
that has crawled onto ceiling

inevitable:
suitcase slipping out from under feet
falling flat on bum
"ouuuuuuuuuucccccccchhhhhhhhhhh!"
Hillery yelling from late night homework-doing
"What happened?!"
No response.
Spider not dying from attack-
but hurrying near one of the many
still unpacked boxes
finding the only shoe I can wear
because hot oil landed on my foot friday
and then whacking spider
thrown in trash with original,
useless wad of paper

repaired

1 earring
No chairs
5 spots on shirt and re-ironing said shirt at least 5 times
Burnt fingers from really hot ironing board (feel better at least)

broken

Things that have been broken today:
1 pair of jeans
1 chair
At least 4 crepes
1 bracelet
Someone's heart

in the mood for love

I rewatched this amazingly beautiful Chinese movie called In the Mood for Love. It was at the IC winter semester, and at that point in my life I was as the title suggested, as are most people at almost any stage of their life. Four months and a heartbreak later I searched the shelves of the suggested movie section. The first time we saw it, we noticed the beautiful choice of Nat King Cole songs in Spanish. The second time, we guessed at the songs, waiting impatiently for "Quizas, Quizas, Quizas." It finally arrived at a crucial moment at which the two friends must decide whether to remain faithful to their spouses (who are cheating on them with eachother) or to have an affair. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. I take note of the songs and search out a cd that contains Nat King Cole en espagnol. Just another album to add to one of my lists. One of many lists of things I want to read, watch, purchase, listen to, or check out from the library. Strewn about my room, the office desk, and wherever else I accidentally left one. So here is today's...

To Do in the Next Few Days

Watch more Arrested Development
Read Northanger Abbey
Not spend any more money (besides what is necessary, like Pizza Night)
Not fantasize about Mark Darcy (this includes driving past house, calling his phone with *67, or checking blog every five minutes to see if a new one has appeared)
Avoid certain people at all costs
Clean room
Drink lots and lots of water
Don't check myspace 50 times a day
Buy more movies
Buy more cds
Use time wisely (read, take a nap, watch movies)
Do not call people who don't call you
Don't read people's blogs who don't read yours
Be nice to mother

awkward greetings

I went to my parents' ward today. Instead of seeing the someone I actually attended the ward to see, I re-encountered a pompous, somewhat obnoxious boy from the past. Recently returned from a mission, reviving interests in girls who don't like him, and seeming to think the same sentiment was returned to him. He greets me with what I take to be a pseudo-handshake, pull-you-in-to-kiss-you like the french do. I keep it to a hand shake. "Or you could give me a hug..." he says. Jumping straight up, I try a sideways hug. Less interest, concern, commitment, etc. He squeezed. Squeezed me, pulling me to his cheek on an acquaintence hug. I do not recommend squeezing hugs while sideways. Awkward. I knew it, my little brother knew it, but I'm not quite sure the R.M. did because he continued talking and going on as though we were best friends. I sat down and just laughed to myself every five minutes as I thought of the handshake/hug. Witnessing the awkwardness, my brother nudges me and laughs. And I recall stories from Day's market, eyes peering through the egg cartons to say hi to my little sister. All the thoughts of awkward hellos and conversations that should never started enter my mind. This is a boy who does not give up. Turns and smiles during the sacrament in my direction followed. Running into a past Young Woman's leader I find him standing next to her. He gushes about his entire life plans for sacrament meetings and locations in the next few week. And I wonder, does it ever stop?

garden clogs

I purchased a pair of moss green garden clogs at D.I. today. It was the very type of shoe I've wanted to purchase since I was about 7 years old. There they sat amidst the misfit shoes. Just an unexpecting shoe browser, they met my eye. Perfect size, perfect price ($3). And now they will have a lovely home in my cluttered closet, unless it's a beautiful rainy day like today, or if I decide to take up gardening.

Spring Cleaning and Security

Moving requires cleaning. This is one thing that has been reiterated in my mind multiple times this past week. Everything has gone from the apartment to the house. The distance that separates them is a mere 5 miles (maybe). Still, I wonder how I acquired so much junk. I made at least 10 trips going back and forth due to poor resources for transportation (both car and rubbermaid containers). I often resorted to stuffing the shopping bags full of candleholders, fans, hoodies, jewelry boxes, and anything else I couldn't carry. My mom dropped off the car, as she said she'd take Binford on a walk from my apartment back to the house (little did she know it would take over an hour and a half, when really it should've taken her about thirty-five minutes- most likely due to the sniffing and peeing on Binford's part).

I packed the car, for the most part, by myself. My little ones and select helpers aided one Sunday before the mandatory move-out date. Load by load, my room was not my own anymore, neither of them. I packed everything into my light apple-green room where no one had lived except for the weevils that infested my desk (but that's another story). Brittney would come to nearly-empty-apartment room and say, "Everyone is leaving me." Though 2 roommates remained, and one of them was one of her bestfriends, I can understand the fear. We're in a transitionary period, students coming and going, friends serving missions, transferring schools, leaving for the summer, going on studies abroad.

Where is the security? Perhaps in the lunches my mom makes me before I go to work, or making me tell her where I'm going whenever I leave, my dad helping me figure out what's wrong with my airport wireless, my mom forcing me to eat family dinner ("or else I'll have to do the dishes), and the locked doors at all hours of the day. Maybe it's Heidi coming into my room with her bathrobe, bath towel, and Wuthering Heights waiting for Hillery to bring epsom salt so she can scrub off her newly acquired coat of paint, but instead falling asleep on my bed while I read the oh-so-scandalous, oh-so-entertaining Bridget Jones the Edge of Reason. My bank account is suddently full of money while not having to pay rent, maybe it's the use of a car whenever I need it, my mom coming in for five million wakeup calls. Though my room isn't in complete order, it feels like home again. I miss the walls, seeing the trees through my window, letting the light shine in. I look forward to having time to read and finish books I want to read, watching movies I've wanted to watch for months, playing and not feeling guilty about it. The summer is a lovely time.

Childhood

I rediscovered swimming. The butterflystroke, frontstroke, backstroke, breastroke. Jumping into the pool three or four times before finally feeling warm. Nightswimming and dayswimming. Summer playlists for the pool. Floating rafts and beach balls. My mind races as I try to think of games I played as a child. We swam with the snow falling down and the occasional snowball getting chucked at our heads, stormy weather where my porcelain skin can't get touched, and the occasional overly-sunny day where I might get the opportunity to cover the farmer's tan I received while steaming table cloths at the red and orange wedding. I still get chuckled at everytime I emerge from the pool or in any outfit that might conceal the defined line and above that the sun hasn't seen. Losing something and then finding it again is refreshing.

The smell of chlorine has filled my nose for a few weeks now. Everytime I waste my day away in the water, I remember things that only re-enacting could bring back. I convinced my mother to let Hillery stay at my apartment for thirty minutes longer because the pool closes at 10pm and it's one of my last opportunities to go swimming before leaving my continually-strange-smelling apartment (usually from the rotting bananas or hidden piece of chicken on the floor). My mother agreed, after making me promise to take the Strong Vocational Interests Test. She thinks it will be a life changing experience and allow me to decide exactly what I want to do with my life. I laugh at her.

After giving her consent, we jumped into our swim suits. Chuckles followed us as we sported our multi-colored skin. We hurried to the pool. Diving in and out multiple times to calm our chattering teeth. Finally we felt ok. "The color game!" Hillery shouted. What was the color game? Do I even remember? "Where you choose a color and dunk the person in the water everytime they guess wrong, then the full dunk when they guess right." So it began, color after color, "Green," dunk, "Purple," dunk "yellow, blue, black, white," dunk, dunk, dunk, dunk. "Rainbow!!" dunk dunk dunk dunk dunk. Hillery wasn't very good at this game. "If it's not in a box of crayola 24 colors it doesn't work." Gray. The game was repeated and repeated. I'm sure the 20 or so group of people outside of the pool laughed as they heard us carry on with our child's play. Elbow playing, pool baptism, and laps after finally deciding Hillery would never guess copper. It might not be in the 24 crayon box, but I haven't seen one of those in years. Crayons are never in boxes anymore. They're on the table of a restaurant, in a rubbermaid box, or broken from being poorly stored. We hold our breath in the pool, counting the seconds till we can heave in a new batch of air.

Swimming laps till pool curfew, arriving soaked on the doorstep. We clean ourselves up. I continue reading. Hillery drives home to continue personal progress. Our begging to stay in the pool is not, "Mommy just a few more minutes..." it's, "Can I have the car for another half hour? Please..." And if so I'll take a test that will point me in the right direction for a career. But breathing in chlorine still feels the same.

It's summer

Which means I might be able to keep a regular blog. I can only say I'll try (and maybe do).

Wants and Demands

I want to travel the world on a yacht with someone who knows how to sail.

I want to eat yummy-exotic foods.

I want to know every language.

I want to take a nap on a hammock in the sunshine.

I want spring/summer shoes to return.

I want to find meaning in everyday things.I want to live in the city (London, please).

I want to eat blueberries, raspberries, and blackberries by the bucket (they have antioxidants and I hear those are good for you).

I want to wake up with the rain falling on the tin roof, while I'm safe here in your arms.

So all I ask is for you to come away with me... (But that was an aside.)

I want to buy and consume some more rice pudding.

I want to kick the habit of eating five million cadbury eggs a day.

And lastly, I want to discover something beautiful everyday.

lovely, lovely

There wasn't any snow to be shovelled off the astro-turf today.
Boys in luxury cars blasted rap.
#6 on ( ) played through the bustle of city traffic.
Men on campus tiptoed like they were toddlers.
Students adorned the lawns.
Girls picked the white blossoms off trees.
Wind blew through hair and through my window.
I smiled at people as they passed.
The sun reached every exposed pore.
Studies were lost.
Daffodils and pansies crept up overnight.
The snow-covered mountains seem distant and unreal.

thoughts for a nearly-spring day

My hob nobs are getting stale.

My pants are getting wet from wintry days.

My bangle is banging against the fake-wooden desk.

My contacts are drying out in the stale office air.

My patience is wearing thin.

My rice pudding is nearly gone.

My fruit-and-vegetable-eating is non-existant.

My desire for something new is emptying my bank account.

My CPK make-your-own pizza wasn't worth five dollars.

_____________________________________________________________

Springtime is nearly here.

Sushi for 3 bucks was yummy.

Make Yours Like Mine is deliciously good.

I'm not sick of all music.

Good shows are coming up.

My friends/family have started playing with garage band.

The IC is cool.

The semester is half over.

I can sometimes go to the other French section.

The snow is pretty and probably won't last long.

I'm saving my money to travel this summer (or will be once my next paycheck is in).

I have a friend in the diamond business.

I am deciding now to do a lot of fun things soon- like camping.

My car's back window is fixed, after having been shot by a trained assassin with a bb gun. The assassin missed me though.

My duffle bag of warm weather clothes came out.

I don't have to pay rent for a few months.

I might get a gym membership.

Life is good/great/beautiful/magnificent.

I'm going to start taking more pictures.

Last friday was lovely.

my favorite rice and a stomach ache

I finally woke up this morning with the sun shining through my window. My apple green room cluttered with rubbermaid boxes of genealogy, the sheets in their usual disarray after having me as an inhabitant, Binford hair covering the bed spread because I needed him at 3.30 this morning when I wanted someone to cuddle with. My sleep was the kind where you wake every 45 minutes, realizing you should wake up but you keep sleeping because you can.

In the early morning hours, 2.50am to be precise, I sent Heidi a text message, "Are you still awake?" I waited a few minutes. Nothing. I called. No answer. Heidi is never asleep this early. Just my luck. I've had this fear since I was a child left alone at home, that my family will just disappear. Desert me. At the very moment I need them or feel the loneliest. Last weekend my car's back window was completely shattered. Carly called at 10.30am, but I didn't pick up. She came in my room and told me to come look at my car. I stood there confused for a few minutes, assessing the damage, then let her go to her parents house and I walked back to my room to call my mother. I called multiple times with no answer. I called every single person in my family in desperation. I left messages. I waited for over an hour, when finally my little brother, the last person I would've expected, called me back. He was playing basketball, my parents were cleaning the chapel. Theory disproved, again.

I phoned my dad at 2.55am. It went straight to his answering machine. He's probably avoiding the hospital calls he gets at all hours of the night, I thought. I called my mother. I let it reach her answering machine. Hung up. Picked up my cell phone again and held down "3" in my yellow-and white tiled bathroom. It rang twice and she picked up, sounding exhausted, "Hello?" I tried to stifle my voice, but bathrooms only create a loudspeaker. Someone was sleeping on the couch in the front room, one guest was on the floor, another sharing a bed with Tiff. I started crying, "Mom, my stomach hurts. I can't sleep. I've tried for an hour and a half. I took my roommate's ibuprofen, and I still hurt. What should I do?" She calmly helped me, went through the problem, consulted my father, and said she could only help me if I went home. We arranged for her to pick me up. I went back to my room. Turned on the bedside lamp and waited. I got impatient and called her, "I'm here honey." I opened the front door in the dark, locked it back up as I entered the cold 3:15am air, hood up, slippers on, and then trudged to the car waiting for me. We reached home after hitting every red light. My parents gave me drugs which I gulped down with Snapple Apple juice, and I shut their door dragging Binford along with me.

My mom entered my room, Binford had left four hours prior (he's an early riser and barker). "I have some sad news, Saffron is dead." My bright yellow, darling canary who suffered a lot of neglect and poor cage cleaning, was dead. About 5 1/2 years old, he'd lived a good long canary life. He'd survived a cross-country move, being locked in a moving van, taken care of by neighbor children, chased by yellow labs, and eating a poisonous plant. This little man was a trooper. He had been more active in the past few months than I had ever seen him. Orange slices and classical music could be the reason. "He lived a good life, and he was happy. He sang with me this morning. But I came back and he was collapsed in his water feeder. Tail feathers straight up. You're going to need to bury him. Your dad and I need to go to a funeral of your dad's aunt who we haven't seen for 27 years."

After minutes of explaining what I must do to bury the bird, taking care not to have the cat or dogs to dig him up, we settled on a blank checks box as a casket of sorts and throwing the entire bird cage and the green-leafed fabric cover my mother had made in the trash. Saffron deserved a proper burial. We settled on the tree near the recycling, yard waste, and garbage cans. I tried to dig his grave on my own, but discovering a massive earthworm, screamed and scared the neighbor's dog. I employed Heidi's services. In pajamas the triple-H oversaw his burial. We covered the spot with a stepping-stone nearby. Said our goodbyes. And left him to the elements and the nearly-spring day.

i ran away

think I might've played Playstation for about two and a half hours last night. Most of which was spent singing songs that never should've been written. "Cause you're everywhere to me. When I close my eyes it's you I see. You're everything I know that makes me believe. I'm not alone, oh whoa whoa. I'm not alone." But my Valentine is a mighty good singer, so that makes up for it in the team competitions. And, I dare say, I got a little more competitive than the last attempt at Cameron's, my voice was shaking, I threw 8 months of voice lessons out the window, and sang "You're the one that I want, doop doop doo doo doo. Hoo hoo hoo. [Repeat] The one I need. Oh yes indeed." at the top of my lungs.

I'm kind of nostalgic lately, deja-vu-(y). I want to be in Chelsea petting my dear canine friend Woody. Or on the beach of some Mediterranean island. Maybe even in the city of love, although my last experience with it lead me to believe it wasn't so much love but a lot of dirty old men who like to grab butts of unsuspecting/innocent females from Idaho. Even Disneyland would be ok. My dear Hilleroy will be leaving me in about a day to go there. I lack the funds, the necessary time off school and work, transportation, people who would seriously go, and the impulsiveness to just leave. Sometimes I wish I had that.

It's been three years since I've been. Princess parades, Peter Pan rides, over President's Day weekend. Downtown Disney. Strangely appealing to me. From the french food to the trees covered in twinkle lights. I can't forget the unpaid actors on Valentine's Day. The two of them about 17, girl in a white top and a flamingo pink polka-dot skirt, boy wearing his straight-leg jeans with fifties rolled pant legs and fifties shoes. Chasing eachother through the little corporate-planned imitation of a street, past the people buying eclairs at the cafe, past the high school students eating their spicy-shrimp and fries, without a care. I wanted to be in that. Not just an onlooker to a pure and innocent love, or what I've come to embody as such.

My itunes brings up a familiar song on shuffle. I Ran Away, an obscure Coldplay b-side. One that I played on repeat on my blue panasonic cd player, the kind that plays burned cds only when it wants to. It was the theme song of the vacation. A little melancholic, a little wistful. But it sums up what that trip meant to me. Reminding me of where I am, sitting in my spotted office chair. Spots from some unidentified food consumed in the laziness that exists in the slow hours at the office. Avoiding cataloging the artifacts of some archaeological find. I am longing for a place I hardly know, the unfamiliar. Fifties attired, high school couples, the fabricated perfection of a street in LA. I'll sit here, three years later repeating the same song I did then. Dreaming of escape, of somewhere else that I may not even love, but which sounds much more appealing than anything else today.

Things I Learned Yesterday

Life had a lot of lessons for me yesterday. Here are just a few I can remember...

I am perfectly incapable of eating a clementine without losing at least 20 seeds on the carpet of my work.

If you wear a red sweater (that looks like Christmas) and hop in the shower afterwards, don't get scared and think you're bleeding if there's lint all over your armpits.

Accordion playing at your apartment can become an every day event. (In addition to Jewish engagement parties that last for about 10 scary minutes).

Don't have family home evening in an apartment with a broken couch.

For some reason the f-bomb isn't as offensive when dropped by Australian people.

Any mention of the word "gold digga" becomes the reason for 5 minute laughing spurts.

Facebook won't log you in if you're writing your address @nm.byu.com instead of @nm.byu.edu.

Every game of Wise and Otherwise (and Taboo for that matter) must include at least one mention of the movie Elf or just elves in general.

You can make eight thousand dollars off dumpster diving for Wendy's cups.

Suriname is pretty much equivalent to Narnia.

Everytime I drive Amy's car I break something (ie. steering wheel, window, the starter).

Don't order a salad at Olive Garden. It comes free for just sitting there.

Pray and fast about every family home evening you attend.

Mr. B. is now an appropriate name for my father. (Mrs. J is beginning to become acceptable for my mother.)

Games till 1ish in the morning are probably bad for school nights.

Hazel Eyes

My mom asked me to go for a drive with her today. This was out of character from this past week's behavior. Let's just say when I corrected her pronunciation of Milan, after she pronounced it meee-l'anne, she wouldn't speak to me the rest of the drive home from Nicoitalita's (a very fine pizza place). I asked her why she wanted to go on a drive. In past experience I've gone on a "drive" with her and ended up going to my Great Aunt Artis', who didn't hear 20 minutes of a conversation my mom had with her and had never met us before (or remembered doing so). My mom ran off the list of things she needed to do on this drive, mostly delivering bills, and I agreed to go with her. What the heck! 7.40 on a friday night. Life is pretty lame with school being out and working full time. I went.

Joseph made me a lovely cd of songs he's listening to, so I popped it in and started listening for about the 10th time today (they're really groovy). We got to "Hazel Eyes" by the Darkness. Let me just give 100 cool points to the Darkness for this Chinese/Scottish/80s rock/Queen sounding song. It's pretty much amazing. The lyrics, which are mostly inaudible, have this classic rock chorus "girl with the hazel eyes... ah ah ahahahahaha." (I'm not sure I can represent it in lyrical form, you'll have to give it a listen). I start track number 10, listen very carefully because my mom hates the music turned up. I have to fight with her anytime I want to hear a song. I've become used to my music having 1/200 lines on the volume indicator, and my mom's terrible version of "My Favorite Things" on at least 172.5. But, low and behold... my mom turned up the volume! On my music! This is extremely out of the ordinary. Not only that, she started rocking out and singing, "girl with the hazel eyes, ah ahahahahahah". I was scared to laugh for fear she might resort back to her, you make fun of me everyday comment. But, nothing. "It grows on you," she replied when I asked her if she liked it. I just chuckled to myself and sang along at the top of my lungs.

After the song finished I could see her fidgeting in her seat and looking at the cd player. "Do you want to hear it again?" I asked her. She nodded. So, we listened to it again. Anyone who hears this song once must hear it at least 2 more times in the same outing. We listened to it at least 4 more times on this trip. My world and day have completely changed.

My mom likes a song I like.

Thank you, the Darkness.

Nice Green Papers You Get While Speeding on the Interstate

The Day is December 26, 2005. Some know it as "Boxing Day," but I guess that's not super important. I had a family party, a little after Christmas get-together. Family parties have become one of those obligations that are awkward and usually spent trying to make decent conversation, perhaps a round of Apples to Apples somewhere in there. There's usually a lot of bad food and fake smiles. This party I made a breakthrough. I convinced my parents to let me leave on my own time, not make an entire day out of a lunch party. So my two younger siblings came along in my mom's car (her "baby"). There was a lot of, "Be careful. Obey the speed limit. Don't listen to your music too loudly" before I left.

The three of us hopped in the one car while my parents left at some other time in the other. We got to the party in good time, minus the fifteen minutes trying to figure out the address to my Aunt Anna-Clair's house, and eventually discovering the party was at my Uncle Daniel's. We still beat my parents. Well, games and food were fine, and we actually made a nice exit. So we were headed down the interstate making really good time. I always speed a little, because you have to to keep up with traffic and as sad as it is... who really goes the speed limit? But sometimes you have this notion something bad is going to happen. You're checking your rear mirror every few seconds, making sure there's nothing in front of you, to the side. Well, somehow I got caught up in a song that was playing. Next thing I know, I look up there's a sign for 55mph because of all the blasted interstate construction. Next, right by the sign there's a cop. Sitting there, waiting for unsuspecting, or maybe unexpecting, drivers to speed right by. I glance at the speedometer. Crap, I'm doing 85ish in 65, nearly 55. I slam on my breaks trying to reach a reasonable speed. His lights turn on. "That's not for me is it?" I ask Hillery. "I don't think so." I'm watching my rearview mirror. I'm not sure what he's doing. He follows me. "Crap." I pull to the side, changing lanes as quickly as possible. Sure enough, he follows. Somehow, waiting those seconds for him to get out of his car, hustle to the passenger window, and ask for my licence and registration are nerve wracking enough. He says, "Do you know why I pulled you over? You were going 83 in 65. I saw you slow down when you saw me. So you knew you were speeding." "But I honestly just saw the 55mph sign right before I saw you and slammed on my breaks because I didn't realize I was going that fast." "Ok. Well, I'm gonna go fill out this paper work." He takes his time, maybe 7 minutes of just sitting there complaining to my siblings. Hearing, "This sucks." repeatedly.

He comes back, "I wrote you down for 9 over. That's half of what you were doing. You'll have to go to traffic school, get in contact with the court. But your fee is the lowest you can have for speeding. Drive safe." Grrrrrrrrrrrrr. What do you say to that? Thank you? You have a nice day?" Just hit your steering wheel once he's out of earshot. Turn up the one song on your cd with profanity, still trying to edit the F-bomb, but instead turn it up (really on accident). Drive 55mph, which no one in the entire state of Utah has ever driven while in a construction zone. And think about how terrible your death will be when your parents find out. And how low your bank account will be once they take out the hundreds of dollars they'll pay the cop with who pulled you over.

I'm staring at the green half sheet of paper that says Lehi City Police Department, and announces my first misdemeanor, or the first one I've ever been caught doing. Sometimes life sucks. This is just another example of why.

Finals Week

Finals Week


He stumbled onto the 8th floor. Checked the sign as he walked through the door. Blue and green plaid, short sleeved shirt. And jeans that looked like his mother had purchased them. Slightly attractive, slightly confused. His little boy, big blue eyes barely open.

"I need to turn in this paper for professor Hartley."

"You can drop it in his box," I pointed. "Two doors down on the right. There are two boxes, his is the bottom."

He stumbled in the direction I pointed, "one, two..."

He stopped and turned around. I rolled my grey-green office chair back to see what happened.

"I'm really tired," he said as he turned to the left.

"It's on your right. There are boxes on the wall. His is the bottom one." After a few seconds pause, he turned around and scanned the wall. He turned left, looking down the hall further.

"Right there."

He somehow managed to put his paper in the box and staggered back toward the door.

"Have a nice afternoon!" he said, half way there.

"Thanks. You too." I smiled at 10.54 am.

"Think happy thoughts."

"Thanks. You too," I smiled.

He pushed the button the the elevator, mumbling to himself. When the red arrow pointed downwards, he touched the doors, and pulled the crack between them. They opened. He stepped on.

"Think happy thoughts."

British/American Word or Phrase Fettish

Talking to my British friend Jon has opened up an entire new word bank for me. One that is quite thrilling really. We discuss the differences between British and American question asking, emphasis on words, words I've never heard in my life. We both found ourselves talking out loud figuring out how these bizarre dialect differences work. But I thought I would mention the words entering my vocabulary and those I've introduced to him. But most Americans wouldn't object to sounding British, there's something so proper and witty about it. So here are some pointers.

British:
"whilst" (I do believe it means while still)- a clever combination two words that just sounds so dignified, "bits and bobs"- a phrase Jon uses often, so just bits of things (Heidi said it had to do with money... that's a possibility), "cheers" or "cheers mate" or "cheerio"- cheers is one of those great words that has multiple meanings: thank you or goodbye. and is interchangeable. "bloke"- a dude or guy (definition assistance by Amy), "nappies"- diapers, "trainers"- tennis shoes, or I'll insert "crazy hounds" because that's one Jon uses and I think it's funny; it can mean just crazy people, those weirdos, or something... I don't believe it's negative though :).

American:
"super cool" which I'm informed doesn't go so well with a British accent because you sound sarcastic. "stoked"- people tell you that you sound like you're too American and think you're stupid. "rad"- this one works out alright, or at least Jon uses it quite frequently. "coolio"- he uses this as well, one I haven't used since about 7th grade. "Your mom"- one I'm sure most of you know I hate, or can't stand anymore. Once an insult it has now just become the response to everything. "What did you eat today?" "Your mom." "talk to the hand"- oh the good old days of elementary school (I believe it's primary school there). 3rd grade, this phrase was introduced into my vocabulary. "Talk to the hand cause the hand won't talk back." (Warning... clueless phrases will follow) "As if..."- a phrase that denotes frustration. ex: "My boyfriend broke up with me. As if...", "whatever" which can be accompanied with both thumbs and pointer fingers forming a W. Same usage as "as if..."

Utah (a special category, all its own):
"twinners"- if you're wearing similar outfits or think the same thing you are now "twinners".
"Oh my heck" replaces other expletives. or Oh my goodness or something of the like.

Just for your info:
(Keyboards in the US start off with qwerty in the UK it's azerty. This is if you start on the left hand, top row of letters. And in place of the @ symbol is the £ symbol. This made my life difficult in the internet cafe.)

Well, if you can think of any fabulous ones I've omitted, please submit them. Anyday's a good day with a new word in your vocabulary ;)

Listening to Athlete-Tourist and Benjamin Gibbard-Home. Both appropriate for this blog entry- Athlete- quite British, Benjamin Gibbard- a fabulous American artist (often rare)

Las Vegas - the blow drier and Fourth of July Frustration

So, the Weezer & Red Hot Chili Peppers concert was rockin'. Can't say I love Las Vegas too much with its unbearable heat, ridiculous gambling, and strip shows everywhere, but I did like staying at Maggie's house. She definitely has some adorable nieces. I've always thought Weezer and the Peppers were cool, and now I have a newfound respect. They are awesome performers. Anthony Keatis is a very toned man, my goodness... his dancing was fantastic. If you get a chance to see the Peppers, take it. Free concerts are always a plus. I've loved both bands for so long, but not exactly realized it until I saw them in concert. There was such an amazing energy.

Even though the temperature was about 109, the temperature of a blow drier, the concert was fun. There was a lot of tv watching indoors because of the terrible temperature. Live 8 was on, the same day as the concert in Vegas so we watched a bit of that. I have found myself frustrated with the United States. Perhaps it has a lot to do with traveling abroad and seeing that America isn't all that spectacular. Our culture, or lack of culture in my opinion, seems to be taking over... in a negative way. Everything needs to be bigger in order to be better, fast food is the way to go, huge corporations are taking over the world. Sometimes I have a hard time identifying with the American identity. There are good things about it. I do enjoy cheaper things, waiting for items I've been eyeing to go on sale, making something out of dreams if you work hard enough (which is not always true, but you can work your way up), and all the American dream-like ideals. But I am frustrated when I see George W. on tv saying, "We will not be pressured into helping a poor helpless continent even if our allies are. We will do what is best for America." Everything is best for America, but we're letting an entire continent suffer because we can't exploit some natural resource. Our foreign policy has largely been concerned with helping the U.S. What is that about? When did we lose sight of helping others not because it is in our best interest but because it needs to be done. What is this America is bigger and better and can beat the crap out of anyone mentality? I'm frustrated. And needless to say that my frustration was heightened by that celebration where we buy expensive fireworks and show off in huge parades because we're proud of our nation. But here I am ranting in a free country, where I am able to express my opinion about foreign policies and a moronic president. That doesn't mean we don't need to do something, because things don't get better without an effort.