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.