Stylishly Single

303 Months

2012-01-28T19:27:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I realized that I have been alive for exactly 303 months. It wasn't anything monumental, but in my numerical mind, it was refreshing to notice just what turned me into the 25-year-and-3-month-old I am today.

I've spent 117 months in public school.
I've spent 36 months in college.
I've spent 2.5 months in Europe.
I've spent 4 months in relationships.
I've spent the past 24 months in the workforce - the last 6 of which have absolutely flown by.

It's pretty simple to whittle all of my major life events into a calendar list, but it also makes me excited for what I have left to achieve.

Most of all, I've realized that not knowing what I'm going to do in the next 303 months of my life is completely okay. I hope that within the next four months I'll be out of Logan or that within the next 36 months I have my car paid off, but other than that, I'm pretty clueless.

It just takes one day at a time to figure it all out.

Schedule

2012-01-25T20:14:00.001-08:00

Mytypical day goes something like this:

6:45 – wake up.
7:45 – off to work, listening to NPR after finishing my 10-minute regimen with the Today Show.
8:00-5:00 – work. It's so boring that I don't have anything else to say about it. Besides this. And, I get an hour for lunch, during which time I've started coming home to watch Ellen. That might be the best hour of the day.
5:00 – come home, work out (as of late), fix dinner, eat dinner, watch Jeopardy, debate my “plans” for the rest of the night.
8:30-9:30 – realize that the only place I really want to be is in my big, warm, comfortable bed. Hop into my pajamas and get in that place. Watch a TV show or movie/read a book/write on the computer/blog stalk.
9:30-10:30 – succumb to fatigue and hit the hay.

Itsounds so utterly unproductive, and really it is. I don't care foranyone but myself. I only just started looking for volunteeropportunities and other social outlets that will get me out of thehouse for more than just my 8-hour workday. Here's the truth, though:I've become a homebody. I'd rather be doing stuff that I love to dothan getting froofy and poofy for someone else. I would rather notsocialize with the people of Logan (in general; I do have a fewfriends whom I love dearly). I'm happy (enough) here, and I'm notworried about what I'm missing by staying in. That's all there is toit.

Also, I might have just admitted to watching way more TV than is healthy. Oh well.

ThankYouMorePlease

2012-01-07T07:54:00.000-08:00

I haven't written in two months. Nothing has changed.

But, I decided today - after watching a fabulous film - that I need to alter some things. I need to emit some more positive energy towards the universe, in hopes that it will - hopefully - return that energy to me.

So, I'm forgetting about my broken car and my silly job and all the stresses and obsessions that plague me daily.

Instead, I'm choosing this face.

I'm choosing good music, played loudly over my car stereo.

I'm choosing a comfortable bed, chocolate truffles, and sleeping in.

I'm choosing to love myself. To get loved.

Thankyou. Moreplease.

River

2011-11-09T14:29:00.000-08:00

I get obsessed with songs, and it's almost a guarantee that you'll find a select number of songs with hundreds of plays on my itunes playcount. This is one of those songs. I love Joni Mitchell. I love that she dated James Taylor. I love that he covered their breakup song. I just love it all.

I often wish that I had a river that I could skate away on.

Blog, What?

2011-10-29T22:01:00.000-07:00

It turns out that I haven't written on this thing in over a month.

It also turns out that this is my hundredth post on this here blog.

Talk about high expectations.

Life is so normal right now, and besides the fact that I'm choosing to go to bed at 10:30 rather than attend a Halloween party, I'm pretty much that same old crazy person.

Today, I asked to play with the child again. It's been over two months since I last saw him, and boy have I missed that kid. We filled our afternoon with leaf piles, Chick-fil-a, and some early Christmas shopping. It was a blast.

And other than that, I don't really have much to report. I might decide to post some of my fiction on here pretty soon, provided that I revise it some and make it acceptable for young readers. (ha. yeah right.) I'll also try to do something more exciting so that I can actually make a solid - or solidly informed - post. In the meantime, check out some bad lipreading. It'll make you smile.

Mitt 2012. Stuff the Ice Chest.

(Oh yeah, I'm still planning to vote for Mr. Obama.)

The Art of Gift Giving

2011-09-22T20:23:00.000-07:00

There is nothing more satisfying than finding that perfect something for another person. I love giving gifts, and I'll gladly celebrate birthdays, wedding days, and even a random Tuesday in order to present someone with the perfect present. Maybe I want to be the Martha Stewart of gifts, choosing and wrapping each one ever so carefully, hoping that the recipient knows just how much love is behind each crease of the brown paper packaging (tied up with string).

I have had gifts backfire on me. There was that one time in high school when I made my best friend a scrapbook of our adventures together, and her lackluster enthusiasm broke my heart. There was also that time earlier this summer when a birthday present for a certain someone resulted in him avoiding me for weeks. Whatever the outcome, though, I still try to find something meaningful for the people who mean the most to me.

So, with limited funds and a stunted imagination, I went out today to find a birthday present for my friend Tyler. It was a challenge that I feared, mostly because my previous gifts for him have just seemed to appear in front of me. Then, it happened again: the perfect gift presented itself to me, and I had no choice but to hurry and buy the awesome handcrafted magnifying glass to show Tyler how much he means to me on his 22nd birthday.

I know it sounds tacky, and maybe I'm making more of this than there really is, but I just can't help the fact that I love surprising people with something that says, "I'm glad to know you." So, if you've gotten a gift from me (even if it was way lame), know that it's because I care about you. And, if you haven't ever gotten a gift from me, sorry. I'll try better next time.

New York State of Mind

2011-09-11T21:40:00.000-07:00

My affinity for the Big Apple began in 2000, when I had a layover in the Newark airport. I remember looking out the windows facing the Hudson and seeing the Statue of Liberty and these two massive buildings taking up the skyline. I even took a picture, but my 30mm makes the twin towers look like toothpicks, rather than the behemoths that they were. I never got any closer to them than that, but I felt a connection with the City, and I knew I'd be back to visit before long.

Well, that trip didn't come until 2008, but in those eight years between, something changed inside of me. My love for New York grew exponentially after September 11, and I quickly became the high schooler with an absurd amount of NYC paraphernalia. I spent countless hours looking at pictures, reading stories, and learning all I could about the city, and I feel like I know it better than I know my hometown. In the (very) short amount of time that I've spent in Manhattan, I feel like I've come to a place that makes me whole. That city is my city.

No amount of words can do justice to New York City. It is dirty and crowded, beautiful and energizing. The people are unlike any other, and I found a renewed hope in mankind as I wandered the streets, talked to the NYPD, and sipped chai from Balthazar's. I could spin my short time there into a novel, but suffice it to say, I love New York.

So, as I've shed tears today for that tragic day ten years ago, I am forever grateful for my New York State of Mind. I reverence those whose lives ended that day, but I know that the City - in all of its imperfect history - has made me who I am today.

How to Write

2011-09-07T21:28:00.000-07:00

A good friend texted me today to let me know that he'd been reading my blog. As shocked as I was to realize that people actually read this stuff, I'm even more shocked that I haven't written in over a month. Sorry to you three readers; I'll try to be better.

I'm currently auditing a graduate fiction writing class at the university. (Auditing: a fancy way of saying that I have to do all the work without a grade... but I don't have to pay for it!) Well, as my first creative writing class, I'm starting to see just where I lack in terms of my writing abilities. I don't have a knack for stories (other than my own), and I'm not cut out to think of an original or eye-catching plot that will leave my readers debating their own existential dilemmas. In fact, the one line I've written so far describes crickets chirping, and I'm pretty sure that's the response I'll get from people trying to workshop my stuff. Whoops.

Nevertheless, I'm bound and determined to try my hand at fiction writing. Maybe it's because I promised myself that I'd have a novel to one-up Stephanie Meyer. Maybe it's because I'm a glutton for those red marks all over my papers. Really, though, I think it's because I know somewhere inside myself, there's a story that's itching to be told.

I've just got to find it.

Highlights

2011-07-30T19:12:00.000-07:00

Here are the high points of my week:

Yelling at the child to "Ford the river!" when we were at the park. The river was more like a babbling brook.

Watching two-ish hours of The Nanny on a Friday night. Fran Drescher needs no other explanation.

Discussing with a three-year-old the ins and outs of gingerbread cookies, pierced ears, and the meaning of life.

Sharing my vast knowledge of Restoration Hardware and Pottery Barn. Only Nate Berkus could outshine me.

And on that note, I wish you all a good weekend.

Not a Tourist

2011-07-21T22:25:00.000-07:00

I just returned from an incredible trip to Washington DC, and I'm trying to remember all of the moments when I thought I should blog about this. It turns out that my map reading skills far surpass my memory at the moment, but I'll still share a thing or two I learned during my week-long adventure.

I spent Sunday afternoon at the National Zoo. It was a perfect day.

I pride myself on looking like a local rather than a tourist. I spent way too many years sporting a fanny pack and a bewildered look on my face, and I'm here to say that confidence and a good pair of casual sandals can do wonders for any traveler. It makes me giddy when people ask me where to find things when I'm on vacation. It happened at least three times this past week, and I proudly shared my semi-useful knowledge of the city in order to help my fellow traveler.

A portion of the Berlin wall on exhibit at the Newseum. This side faced West Germany. The other side is completely clean.

I'm always impressed by the amount of fun I have when I travel by myself. This time was no different. I stayed with my good friend, Alex, but we only really saw each other in the mornings and before bed. All the rest of the time, I wandered around the many museums and monuments of DC, not once thinking that I would rather have someone with me. I did things at my pace, skipping the exhibits that didn't interest me, and spending extra time in the places that did. I also spent as much (or as little) money on things that I wanted, and I never felt bad for making someone go out to eat somewhere that was a little more expensive. I cannot emphasize enough the joy I find in traveling alone. I'm sure it's not for everyone, but I encourage you all to find a little alone time the next time you go somewhere. It's good for the soul.

A view of the Capitol, complete with Canadian flags...

From interesting (and creepy) men, to the cute little girl who sat next to me on my flight home, I'm most convinced that traveling helps to open my eyes to the other 6 billion people with whom I share this planet. We're all so different, and I'm reminded of that as I leave the homogenous land of Utah and see the diversity of another city. I'm so grateful for the opportunities I've had to see this country. I don't think I'll ever get tired of seeing the world.

Midday Confessional

2011-07-12T16:25:00.000-07:00

Confession:

I'm not feeling very philanthropic at the moment. Actually, it's been more than a moment, and I don't know which is worse - the fact that I don't care about people, or the fact that I don't want to care about people. It seems that my harmonious feelings only extend towards those that I don't live with/by/near, and I can't manage to love those people with whom I interact most closely.

Case in point: you tell me about someone in Africa who has AIDS, and I'll gladly send you a $10 check to help the cause. But, you tell me that I have to clean one more of my lazy roommates' dirty dishes, and I will break something.

Also, as a self-proclaimed democrat, I'm supposed to be all about using the government's dollar to help out the less fortunate. I'm all for universal healthcare, and I'm (mostly) grateful for the welfare program, when it's used wisely. That said, I overheard some people talking about unemployment and disability benefits today (and these weren't people with disabilities), and I wanted to scream at them. If I can find not one, but two low-paying jobs in order to make ends meet, why can't you find a way to get your butt out from under the playground and to workforce services? Literally. They were sitting under a playground. It's frustrating for me to see people abuse the system that I work so hard to accept. I would happily fight for the rights of the underrepresented or misunderstood, but I won't stand by and watch people abuse the system.

There you have my rant. I'm done sticking my neck out for people who refuse to return the favor, and I'm definitely done serving those who cannot show their appreciation for my service.

The end.

These Days.

2011-07-06T20:34:00.000-07:00

These days I'm struggling to figure out what I'm still doing up in Logan. Without air-conditioning, a solid 9-5 job, and a worry-free living situation, I'm pushed to escape the confines of Cache Valley and make something bigger of my life.

These days I sleep with ice bottles in my bed. I might have temporary numbness in my lower appendages, but at least I'm not roasting.

These days I'm counting down to my trip to DC. Only seven days till I'm on a jet plane headed for our nation's capital.

These days I watch Christmas movies to remind myself that we only have six months left to complete all our shopping and wrapping. Actually, the Christmas movie is The Holiday, and it's mostly due to Jude Law's attractiveness that I'm watching it. Oh, and the fact that it's snowing. Have I mentioned how warm I am at the moment? Snow is a beautiful sight.

These days, I'm grateful for the little things, and I'm going to keep plugging along until I get to where I want to be.

Pounding.

2011-06-15T21:50:00.000-07:00

No, I haven't beaten my roommates.

I'm not even referring to my heart and the many recent crushes I've developed.

I have a new hobby, and I'm hoping it sticks.

I've taken up running.

To those of you who know me, this probably isn't very newsworthy. I like to profess that I'm athletic, without ever achieving said athleticism. If I don't have to prove it to anyone, it doesn't really matter how many minutes it takes me to run a mile. I can claim to be an Olympic marathoner, but then we'd know I'm lying. Instead, I mostly stick to "running." Notice the quotes. I say I do it, but I don't really. I walk. Dawdle. Admire beautiful gardens. Never break a sweat.

Then, about two weeks ago, I decided to make a fresh start. I set a goal to run every day in the month of June, and let's just say that I'm fifteen days strong! I don't go super far or super fast, but I've seen myself improve immensely in just two weeks. I don't dread it anymore, and I'm actually grateful for those twenty minutes each day when I can go pound some pavement. It's a privilege for me to push my body. With how stagnant my life has seemed lately, running is one of the few things that makes me feel like I'm getting anywhere. Literally.

So while I take to the streets in my running shoes, I'll let my steady breath and my beating heart be my guides. Who knows how far they'll take me.

Venting.

2011-06-07T23:12:00.001-07:00

If cleanliness is next to godliness, then I live with the spawns of Satan.

I got back today after a (beautiful) weekend with my family. I'll readily admit that my parents' house is not recognized as the spic-n-span house on the block (sorry mom, I know you read this), but it doesn't usually reek of rotting.

That was my "Welcome Back to Logan" scent tonight.

Well, instead of flipping out (as is my nature), I calmly took out the garbage in hopes that the smell would leave. I arranged my flowers and put away my food before walking past the sink. There it was. The smell. Someone had left rotting dishes in the sink for (at least) the past six days. Once again, I remained calm, as I turned on the water and started washing all of the disgusting dishes. After 25 minutes, I could finally breathe again, and it took another 15 minutes before the kitchen was completely clean.

Now, I'm not trying to prove that I'm the best roommate on the block. I can be bratty and snarky and a bit of a pain. But, I DO MY OWN DISHES. I don't expect other people to clean up after me, and I certainly don't allow myself to live in squalor out of sheer laziness. These people don't understand how to keep a house, let alone how to be a respectful roommate.

So, tomorrow we're gonna have a little "Come to Jesus" talk. They will know that the smell of rotten Spaghetti-Os is enough to make someone gag, and they'll know that the next time they leave dishes in the sink for over three days that they'll end up in the dumpster. I don't care if I end up in the hall-of-fame for the meanest roommate ever, at least my picture will be up in the cleanest roommate hall-of-fame as well.

Random Goodness

2011-06-04T22:17:00.000-07:00

Here's a brief smattering of my life at the moment:

I just painted my nails. They look absolutely gorgeous, and they'll definitely complement the outfit I have picked out for my sister's wedding.

My sister is getting married. I'm so happy for her and her wonderful fiance. They're so in love, and it's a beautiful thing to watch.

I'm trying to plan the next segment of my life. After this summer of nannying and playing house at my tiny apartment, I think I'm ready to move on to bigger and better things. We'll see where the wind takes me.

I set my sights to travel to DC this summer. Hopefully everything works out so I'm able to go.

I've found lots of wonderful people to fill my social calendar this summer. In addition, I think I've overcome the social funk that happened for the first couple of weeks after he left. Since the two of us hardly talk anymore, I'm staying busy with people I love just as much. Yay!

Life is good. Summer is on its way. I'm a happy girl.

Carefully Caring

2011-05-23T22:08:00.000-07:00

Here's a confession about myself:

I care a lot.

I've known this for a long time now, and it continues to get me into trouble, but I just haven't figured out how to give into apathy (unless it involves annoying 18-year-old roommates). Whether it's those silly plants in my front room or a friend that I rarely see, I think my heart might hold too much too dear, and it shows. Most of the time, I feel like my caring might come off a little heavy-handed, and I leave people feeling overwhelmed by an overload of affection. I don't mean to do it, and I definitely don't expect reciprocation, but I also hope not to scare people off by my levels of adoration. There are times when, instead of making me a better friend (like I want it to), my care leads me to be a worse friend than some people deserve. No one wants to feel smothered, and I'm learning that I need to let go in order to let people be my friend, too.

Just know this, if you consider me a friend, I take that title as an honor and privilege, and I will do just about anything necessary to show you that I care about you.

But please, tell me if it gets to be too much.

Tidbit

2011-05-17T22:51:00.001-07:00

For the past two weeks, I've had so many ideas floating around in my head and absolutely no clue how to tie any of them into some fantastic balloon-animal of thought. Thus, the night beckons me, and I'm here to spill something on the screen of this blog. Hopefully it's worth reading.

Summer started a little over a week ago, and I'm getting into the swing of things as I adjust my social life to fit this town when it's vacated of its resident students. There is much less traffic, shorter lines at Cafe Rio, and a general emptiness that leaves me a little sad at times and very grateful at others. I've reestablished a lot of great friendships that I let fall by the wayside during the semester, and I'm glad that these people are willing to overlook my social neglect in order to listen to my nightly rants, sing Broadway with me, or just drive around looking for mischief.

Tonight, I did all of the above.

While I knit my way into a dizzy stupor, Tyler and I drove down to Ogden so that he could purchase a new CD at FYE. Actually, he had a coupon to get the CD for free, and we figured that the cost of gas wouldn't affect the end price too much. Plus, how often do you get to sit in the car with one of your best friends, just talking and laughing about all sorts of stupid stuff? My ghetto impersonation is a lot better after taking lessons from Glozell... I mean Tyler. Also, my love of Magnums has returned with their arrival in the good ol' U.S. of A. I'm planning to eat my weight in gourmet ice cream this summer. I'll just have to make sure to do lots of hiking so that it doesn't show.

And with that, I encourage you all to buy your own box of Magnums (no, not the condom), and have a great day!

Major Weeper

2011-05-06T12:34:00.000-07:00

I think it is assumed that all girls cry a lot. I don't generally fit the stereotype, although I have been known to shed some tears at awkward/unusual times. I used to sob every week when I watched Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. There were those Disney fireworks, and also that one time when I told my mom about Of Thee I Sing. I acknowledge that my emotions can sometimes get the best of me, but I don't (usually) burst out in tears when overcome by emotion. I'd like to think of myself as more of a screamer than a crier.

Maybe I was wrong.

Today, I got choked up not once, but twice. The first time was at school as I read Love You Forever to one of my students. The second was as I arrived at my second job and sat down to check my email. Maybe I'm pregnant. Maybe I have too many raw onions floating around my life. Maybe I need to get a grip. Whatever the cause of my silly emotional outbursts, I know that it felt so good to let those tears stream down my face as I said a silent prayer this afternoon. I'm sure that I'll go back to my normal, screamy self within a couple of days. For now, though, I'm going to embrace the tears.

Out of Control

2011-05-03T15:55:00.000-07:00

Thank you hormones for acting out last week so that I may enjoy the high-on-life feelings that I'm having this week so much more.

Seriously. Last week was so bad. I know when I'm going crazy, and I hate every minute of it, yet there's absolutely nothing I can do besides ride it out and hope that I don't sabotage too much in the midst of my hysteria. I can't even tell you how many times I nearly had a mental breakdown, and my journal entries will go to prove to a saner me just what a whack job I really am. Fortunately enough, the late-night phone calls, the hours of girl talk, and the pint of Haagen Dazs in my freezer helped me pull through quite nicely, and I'm back to normal this week.

It's the last week of school, and the last week of whatever has been happening for the past two months of my life. He moves back to Alaska next Tuesday, and I'm not entirely sure what will become of us as we continue our lives 3,000 miles away from one another. We've avoided talking too much about what comes next, and I'm left to soak up every minute we have over the next seven days. I want to make sure that I'm the only girl he thinks about when he's up in the cold white north. (I don't actually think it's all that cold or white right now, but I thought I'd say it anyway.) I know that I'll be doing a lot more things by myself, and I'm prepping myself for that twinge of loneliness every time I need a little him in my life. It'll all be fine, though, and I'll tell myself that a million times over the next sixteen weeks.

Thus concludes my ode to normal hormones. I can handle one week of crazy as long as the rest of the time is like this.

Currently

2011-04-25T23:59:00.000-07:00

This is the state of my life:

- Staying up too late. Always.

- Spending almost all my time with him.

- Watching countless episodes of Top Gear and laughing my head off at all of the silly antics.

- Finally going grocery shopping after nearly two weeks. I can now eat at home again.

- Cursing the never-ending cold in Logan, and remembering with utmost fondness the two days that I just spent in warm southern Utah.

- Sleeping. Now.

Shoe Love is True Love

2011-04-01T21:56:00.000-07:00

There was this time that I wore a new pair of sandals in Las Vegas, and I got some lovely blisters on the top of my feet from the thin straps. Ever since, I've had some lame-o scabs on the top of my right foot, and I feel like explaining them every time someone sees me with my feet exposed. (Which is all the time. Also, I feel like I need to explain why my feet sometimes turn all purple-y and splotchy, even though that's no one's freaking business.) Well, after the initial shock of wearing a new pair of shoes, I usually put them away in my closet for a couple of weeks in hopes that my feet will change dimensions and that the pain they caused will no longer be an issue the next time I decide to wear them. (Case in point, the awesome bronze flats I scored in Cali, but which have only been worn once in the past month.)

Today, I donned the cutesy sandals for another dose of summer foot exposure. It's true that my sausage-like feet probably shouldn't be seen outside of a nice pair of orthotic shoes and ted-hose, but I insist on painting my toenails and putting on a cute pair of sandals as soon as the weather gets above 60 degrees. And today, I just kept staring at my feet. I cannot even begin to list how many times I thought about my adorable sandals and and the way that my feet weren't freezing (or throbbing with pain). Then I thought about Sperry's, and I probably spent a good amount of time at work looking up the different varieties of boat shoes and which ones I like the best (the red ones, two holes, always Sperry's).

I have an unhealthy relationship with shoes. I don't care if they give me blisters or if they don't really fit at first. A good pair of shoes will outlive any initial impression I have of them. They'll be able to handle my rejection after the first wear as a test of our relationship, and they'll prove themselves over time to be more loyal and comfortable than I could possibly explain. Oh, shoes. With you I can be so fickle and forgiving. Thank you for always keeping my feet on solid ground (unless you're moon boots, in which case, thanks for doing the exact opposite).

Spring!

2011-03-31T22:46:00.001-07:00

Turns out that I'm coming down with whatever illness he had last week. So lame. I'll make the best of it, though, and thank the heavens that next week is my spring break. I foresee lots of Einstein bagels, park adventures, and a resurrection of my photo career from last summer. I'm a pretty fabulous photographer, when the subject in question is a little boy with autism. It's pretty helpful that he looks angelic, even if it's not quite an accurate portrayal of just what a handful he can be.

It finally decided to be warm in Logan, and I'm looking forward to the longer days and open windows of the next few months. I realized that I was nicer today, too, as if the weather might actually affect my mood. Hmmmm. Let's just say that whoever gets to know me in the middle of winter (bless his heart) has to wade through a lot of crap before uncovering the happy-go-lucky, summer-lovin' Emily that begins to emerge right about now. It always surprises me just how happy I am to be rid of winter and on to the other glorious (and warmer) seasons.

More to come: baby animals, bicycle rides, and a return to the cooking/homemaking fiend that I can really be.

A Good Thing.

2011-03-22T21:15:00.000-07:00

Over the past four weeks, I've become accustomed to going to bed much later than I should. I justify the sleep deprivation with the fact that I have a social life, something that I feared no longer existed for me in this town. I'll spare you the details of all my late nights, but suffice it to say, they're spent mostly with one person doing a lot of one thing. You draw your own conclusions.

Well, he's sick. And it turns out that people who are ill need a lot more sleep than the usual 5-6 hours that we were going off of. For the past four nights, I've had to gather my wits at 10:00 and realize that it's not necessary to stay awake for another 4 hours. In fact, I can go to bed before midnight in order to escape all those "You look tired" comments from my coworkers. I'll readily admit that this little illness has been the best thing that could have happened to my sleep patterns.

So, while I pray for him to get better (and soon), I'm also very grateful for the added sleep that I'm getting. It's a good thing.

It's Been an Adventure

2011-03-16T21:27:00.000-07:00

I seem to produce the best blogging in moments of absolute boredom. If that's the truth, then right now I should be writing a masterpiece, full of insight and intrigue, and sure to make you giggle.

The ten-day blogging hiatus has gotten the best of me, and for some reason all of my profound thoughts left with the snow that slowly melts outside my apartment window. I'm here to write something, although I'm not sure where it will go, yet.

You all should know that I'm a sucker for adventure. A long time ago, I decided that the only life I wanted was one where I could say, "I did that." I remember starting a savings fund so that I could return to Disney World when I was fourteen. I don't think I had a very good concept of the impracticality of that goal, but fortunately I didn't have to end up riding Small World by myself, as a teenager.

There were also the times that I decided to go to Europe, alone. I maintain that those experiences were the most influential times of my life, and I wouldn't trade them for anything. I've also made a point to see as much of the United States as I can, and I'm slowly ticking places off of my eternally-long bucket list.

But that's not all.

Adventure happens right here in my backyard. It happened two weekends ago when I got locked out of my apartment and had to spend the night at the apartment of the guy I like. I have adventures walking home from work in giant blizzards and torrential downpours that create puddle-lakes. Any given moment is an adventure in this one wild life of mine, and I'm learning to make the down times just as influential and substantial as the crazy times.

So, tonight, this blog is my adventure. I'm using my words to go someplace new; join me if you dare.

The Soundtrack of My Life

2011-03-07T18:42:00.000-08:00

For the past week or so, I've woken up each day with a different song stuck in my head. Sometimes it's a return to middle school and a little bit of "What Would You Do?" Don't mess. I know all the lyrics.

Yesterday morning it was another nostalgic moment with my friend Nelly and his "Ride Wit Me." (Okay. I never claimed to have great taste in hip-hop hits.)

This morning, I decided to really class it up with Cee Lo Green's "Forget You." I fully admit to loving this song, and it really helped me start my day off on the right note.

Psychoanalyze all you want, but I'll attest to loving no more about these songs than their catchy beats and semi-offensive lyrics. And it helps to start my morning with a dance party and a little bit of ghetto gracefulness.

Disease Addendum

2011-02-21T21:34:00.000-08:00

I feel like the post I made earlier needs an explanation.

I talked to my mother right before, and our conversation left me feeling a little bit irritated. You see, growing up in another generation gives someone a completely different view of dating and marriage, and my mom was just trying to come to grips with why my dating life seems to lag at times.

She wasn't saying that there was anything wrong with me, but after I hung up, I still felt like I had been hit by a plague. I wrote the synopsis of my "disease" - singleness - and posted it in a desperate attempt to find a cure.

It turns out that the only cure is time, and I'm willing to wait as long as I need to find someone worthy of my love.

So no, I'm not contagious. You needn't run away in fear. And, I most likely won't bite... unless provoked (just kidding). I'm completely happy the way I am, and I'm not worried at all about the label of 'single.'

It just means I'm not planning to settle for less than the best.

Here are the symptoms:

2011-02-21T16:56:00.000-08:00

I dress like a girl.
I brush my teeth at least 2 times per day.
I shower... daily.
I usually eat three meals, though they aren't always the best.
I speak my mind.
I have an expansive vocabulary.
I am tall.
I have a broad sense of humor. Some may even call me witty.

The diagnosis:

I am 24 and unmarried.

There is something out of place. I can't tell you what it is, but I'm sure that one of the symptoms above is the cause of my painfully obvious disease.

Please, I'm begging you. Help me find a cure.

i am emily.

2011-02-16T21:58:00.000-08:00

"Do you know what you are? You are a marvel. You are unique. In all the years that have passed, there has never been another child like you. Your legs, your arms, your clever fingers, the way you move. You may become a Shakespeare, a Michelangelo, a Beethoven. You have the capacity for anything.” - Henry David Thoreau

I copied this quotation from a tumblr thread that I spent two hours reading last Saturday morning.

Tonight I watched "i am sam" while I knitted what is sure to be a magnificent creation.

And then I thought, I need to blog.

So here I am, trying to join two seemingly disjointed thoughts into a coherent post. This is the post where I once again explain the beauty that comes in uniqueness. For the past few days, I've decided to slink back in my shell. I've started apologizing for things I should never be ashamed of. I've decided that being me isn't good enough, and I've tried to decide exactly what portion I want to portray in order to get people to like a particular version of myself.

Tonight I had a phone conversation with my sister in which I explained this particular dilemma. I told her that I cannot believe that people would want to be my friend. I am never surprised when people I care about decide not to care about me, because I don't necessarily deem myself "worthy" of their love.

When she questioned my self-esteem, I assured her that I love myself so unconditionally that some might find it annoying. I think I'm the greatest thing since sliced bread, but I probably won't believe it if you think so, too.

It's an interesting paradox, and I'm not quite sure I can explain the way I feel about my professed unworthiness.

I just know that, like Sam Dawson, I am extraordinarily unique, and no one can do Emily quite like me. So, I'll continue to do just that, and maybe someday someone will understand the intensity, loyalty, and love that I have.

I think that's a wonderful choice.

(500) Days of Me.

2011-02-11T23:55:00.001-08:00

(The following is an extremely self-centered post. You've been warned.)

Have I ever mentioned how I want to be Zooey Deschanel when I grow up?

Well, I do.

In a half-hearted effort to be more like her, I cut myself some bangs. I rock them, and they definitely help me fill out some of the prominent facial features of Miss Zooey. Now, I just need to work on the rest of her trademarks:

First, I need some jumpers or other 50s-esque attire.

This uber-expensive dress from Kate Spade should do the trick.

I've got the bicycle, the bangs, and the guitar-playing best friend.

I could probably use some fans, or a random cult following, but I actually prefer my anonymity.

And last but not least, I'll need some signature dance moves. Currently, my style is something between the mashed potato and the jerk, but it's a work in progress.

I'll definitely keep you posted on my 500-day transformation from Emily, the quirky girl with bangs, to Emily, the quirky Zooey Deschanel lookalike with bangs.

Oh Life.

2011-02-07T22:23:00.000-08:00

While I drove back up to Logan after a weekend-end excursion in Salt Lake City, I got caught in a freak rain- and snowstorm that scared me a little and made me extremely grateful for the soothing effects of the radio.

After I got tired of switching between Usher and Peter Cetera, I decided to change the station to NPR, and I drove the last 40 minutes listening to the news about Egypt, the Superbowl, and this little thing called life.

I heard Liz Murray on the BBC, and her story removed me from the blizzard in Sardine Canyon and took me to the streets of the Bronx. Her memoir, "Breaking Night," is something I need to own, and her story was exactly the thing I needed to hear on my scary drive. Nothing seems scary after hearing about her life, though.

How can someone take a set of hellish circumstances and turn them into powerful lessons of love and forgiveness? How am I so self-consumed that my life has yet to make anything half as beautiful as what Liz has made?

Coming from two drug-addicted parents, Liz spent most of her childhood watching her mom cash the welfare check only to buy heroin and cocaine. She watched her parents shoot up in the kitchen, and even though she went to bed hungry, she knew that they loved her. By the age of 15, Liz was homeless on the streets of New York City, and only after watching her mother die of AIDS was she able to take a hold of her life - her right now - and create a future different than the prescribed destiny of hopelessness.

She went to high school.

She went to Harvard (with a $12,000/year scholarship from the NYTimes, no less).

And now, she's creating a world where people can discover that homeless does not equal hopeless.

What a crazy thing this life is. I'm so grateful for people like Liz Murray, who help me understand the big picture. Someday I want to be a teacher at the Broome Street Academy, and I want to let everyone know the power that responsibility, respect, and love have on every single life.

The Bridal Faire

2011-02-05T23:18:00.000-08:00

I added the -e to fair to give it more of a renaissance feel. Did it work?

Today I had the opportunity to attend my first bridal fair. I went with a friend - who is as single as I am - and we had an overall good time seeing all of the commercialized venues for wedded bliss. Mostly, I wanted free food and swag, and I managed to walk away with a stomach full of wedding cake and a purse full of advertisements.

The best/most awkward moments came when we tried to decide what to tell the vendors, who wanted to know about our "special day." Lauren moved a ring to her wedding finger, we made up fake fiances, and we even questioned the lesbian idea for a couple of seconds. When it all came down to it, though, we decided to tell the truth.

No, we're not engaged.

Yes, we were only there for the goodies.

The looks of condescension definitely made me feel good about stealing two cakes from a couple of booths, but overall, most people were pretty nice to us. And when one lady asked me if I had a date picked out, I let her know that I did indeed, but that I was just hoping that the groom got the memo for September 14. Ha.

Wow. Just wow.

2011-02-03T20:49:00.000-08:00

I got this email today:

Dear Students,
We have two request for interrupters.
One is from the Logan School district. They need someone who speaks Mandarin Chinese. If you are interested please call xxxxxxxxxx.
Second, we need someone to help the missionaries interrupt Marshallese for a family they are teaching. If you are interested please call xxxxxxxxxx.
Thanks,
The Logan Institute

I responded as such:

Dear Institute,

I'm just writing to inform you that I won't be volunteering to interrupt anyone. I think that interrupting is rude, and I don't appreciate you asking us to do something so un-Christlike. Also, I can't interpret for you, either, because I'm not fluent in Mandarin or Marshallese. Good luck finding someone to do this job for you. In the meantime, I'd brush up on your fluency in English.

An Institute Student

Am I going to Hell for this? Probably. Does it feel good to let stupid people know that they should learn to spell? Definitely.

The Post-High School Dance

2011-02-03T18:24:00.000-08:00

I'm sure this post will step on somebody's toes, but I never claimed that I didn't have two left feet.

As a 24-year-old single gal, I'm fully aware of the crazy things that young girls do for love. I've even been a victim/perpetrator of some of the craziness, but I feel that the past few years have mellowed my taste in whirlwind fairy-tales. If anything, the thought of having a chick-flick-esque romance leaves me rolling my eyes instead of swooning.

That's why I was so glad to leave the era of the high school dance. I never really loved the big hurrah that girls (and guys, for that matter) make out of an awkward evening, but in Utah it is an especially big deal. You can count on people asking each other at least a month in advance. The asking goes beyond a casual phone call and, "Hey, are you free this Friday?" No. We have to outdo ourselves, making elaborate (and expensive) gestures to let the recipient know just how badly we want to go to the dance with them. Then, we wait for a reply, which makes a three-letter word into a three-hour charade, with girls unwrapping hundreds of Starbursts just find the one chewy candy marked yes.

Gag me.

Well, I haven't thought much about high school dances since, well, high school. I thought they were a thing that I could leave in that era of bad fashion and 10:00 curfews. I was wrong.

I'm sitting in my bedroom right now as my (freshman) roommate prepares for the dance tomorrow. They're cutting hair and primping, talking about how they asked their dates and how they have yet to find the perfect dress. Her bedroom is filled with balloons, and I'm filled with sorrow at the way my life continues to mimic high school foolery. It makes me sad that she still hasn't left high school. More than that, it makes me sad that, no matter how hard I try, I can't escape it, either.

Life is so much better than those three years I spent inside the Bingham bubble. I'm so glad to be done with the dances and the drama, and no matter how much you paid me, I would never go back. I acknowledge that life will always be a little bit like that awkward prom date, but I hope that I can make something better out of my experiences than that poofy ball gown and dinner at Chuck-a-Rama.

{Even Molly Ringwald agrees on the awkwardness of high school dances.}

Suck that Marrow

2011-02-02T22:03:00.000-08:00

"I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion." ~Henry David Thoreau

I stole the quote from my favorite blog. You know, the one I mention in every single post. Anyway, as I went through my daily repertoire of internet reading, I realized that there are so many people out there (and even more whom I haven't yet found/blog-stalked) who don't understand the marrow sucking process of living fully. I see countless women (and plenty of men, too) who wish their lives away, pretending that things were better in the past or that they will be better in the future. Needless to say, this empty living is the exact opposite of how I want to approach my life.

I've seen the meanness of life. I witness the cruel injustice of fate every single day, and it makes me more determined to suck the marrow of my life. Maybe that little boy in my class can't talk or move, but his eyes inspire me to live. My classroom alone holds the weight of a million unfulfilled dreams, and I'm determined to shake the dust off of my littles, and let them know that it's okay to get back up after they fall. The marrow is sweetest when you understand the work that comes with it.

My life is a tribute to all of the incredible opportunities that arise when you dream. More importantly, I am living proof that marrow suckers don't just dream. They do. It's work, and it's sucks (literally) to suck that marrow sometimes. Don't give up, though. Life is grander, more beautiful, and more worth it than anything you've ever known before.

Suck it up.

Single and Snarky

2011-01-31T22:22:00.000-08:00

My past few posts are more cynical than I'd like to admit. As a self-professed optimist, I maintain that life is only as great as I can argue it. That being said, I like to allow a healthy level of cynicism in order to gain perspective. And as of late, I think that my general angst has allowed for some deep reflection, healthy motivation, and a general push in the right direction.

I've also been contemplating where I want to take this blog. As I said in my last post, I'm not like most other Mormon mommy bloggers out there, namely because I'm not a mommy. I don't have any recipes for canning your own baby food, and I most definitely couldn't tell you where to find a spouse. So, maybe I'll market my singleness - my fresh perspective on what it's like to be a single woman in a society where you only matter if you're married.

A couple of days ago, I found this beautiful song online. Nellie McKay says it better than I ever could, and so I'll let her tell my story for me.

I celebrate and revere motherhood. If you read past the last few cynical entries, you'll find that I'm pretty much destined to be an elementary school teacher or a mom with a minivan full of children. While I understand this intrinsic need to bear and nurture life, I also fight against the societal norms that rank my worth on my ability to follow a Martha Stewart recipe.

I want to do it, have it, be it all, and in the process, I want to tell the world that I matter and that my single voice can rise above the chorus of screaming children (and their parents).

And no, I cannot stand Danielle Steel.

A Self-Indulgent Post

2011-01-29T21:34:00.000-08:00

Today was a complete waste of life. I slept too long, accomplished too little, and discovered that I owe oodles in back taxes. I'm hoping for a change of tides tomorrow, with a promise of jobs and friends and fulfillment galore. If that's not the case though, I'll indulge in a little blogging to keep my mind off of reality.

This cyber outlet for my many different rants is just that, an outlet. I use my blog to spill, just like I use my journal to chronicle, my planner to organize, and my toaster to toast. I'm a huge proponent of blogs and the ways they help us understand the zeitgeist of a whole slew of individuals. That said, I think that that the majority of blogs are petty and narcissistic. Who are we kidding if we think that the world really wants to know the kind of cheese we prefer or the way our hair looked when we woke up this morning? This is one of the many reasons that my posts tend to shy away from the journal-entry type and lean toward the philosophical. I know people couldn't really care any less to know about my new shoes, so I leave those details to myself.

Granted, my all-time favorite blog combines daily minutiae with deep world views. It takes talent to paint life with everyday beauty, and I appreciate seeing a life that doesn't try to make me jealous or full of pity. There are plenty of those "do it- have it- want it-all" blogs out there, and when I'm feeling really masochitic, I'll visit a few, just to reaffirm my taste for well-written, poignant, and semi-selfless blogging.

There you have it - a blogging paradox. I want people to read about my life, while maintaining that my life is nothing worth reading about. I want to remove the self from the most self-inflicted space on the internet. Well, besides facebook, that is.

Out with a Bang.

2011-01-22T01:11:00.000-08:00

Once again, I approach the blogging world as my clock nears 2:00 am. Even though my room is spinning and I'm feeling the adrenaline crash of the past few hours, I can't put my mind at ease until I've divulged all of my random warblings to a listening audience. As I put together the pieces of a scattered day, I am left with a beautiful collage of my myriad adventures in a land called Logan. And, as I wake tomorrow, I know the skiffs of snow will provide additional opportunities for me to cherish.

Today started with a completely normal routine at work. Other than my free lunch and an explanation to my $100 bonus, nothing too surprising happened. I didn't get my hair pulled, though, and no one sassed me; those things always equal a good day.

After spending another four hours at my afternoon job, I felt like the night had to provide some excitement to punctuate my rather bland day. I planned an evening with a coworker, and we set off to watch a show at the on-campus performance hall. While I'm not sure if she hated it, I had an incredible time, and I'm further convinced of the beauty in expressions of the human spirit.

Music moves me. Dance stirs me. Theatre gives my life a much-appreciated perspective.

And it was there, amongst the elderly Yahtzee-playing crowd that I realized that I didn't want to be anywhere else than listening to Audra McDonald sing "Stars and Moon."

Now, as I finally succumb to the warm blankets and soft pillow cradling my head, I'm ever grateful for the beauty in my life. I'm grateful for friends who punctuate my life with loud laughter and unforgettable kindness. I'm astounded by the way that my dreams continue to come true, and I know that wherever I go in life, I'll always shoot for the moon.

And with that, I say goodnight.

Filling the Bucket

2011-01-03T19:55:00.000-08:00

I'm involved with Daily Challenge from MeYouHealth, and today our challenge was to share five things from our bucket list. While I've never actually compiled a list of the things I want to do before I "kick the bucket," I'm always dreaming up new things that I want to do before I die (or, better yet, before I turn 25). In most ways, I think I'm very fortunate to have accomplished so many things that are on others' bucket lists. I'm a pretty lucky girl, but my luck won't keep me from dreaming up new and greater things to do with this one life of mine. Here are some recent goals:

Write a book. My dad swears that it'll be the next book he reads (which really means that he will be illiterate for a very long time), but I'll be sure to publish something worthwhile. Just give me ten years, and I'll have something better than Twilight for you to put on your bookshelf.

Attend the Summer Olympics (more specifically the 2012 Olympics in London, England). I would love to see the tennis at Wimbledon or the marathon through the streets of the most beautiful city on earth. I'm already signed up to purchase tickets when they become available in March.

Have a family to love, play with, cook for, teach, and love some more.

Own a house in Carmel, California. It doesn't have to be this one, but I'm not too fussy.

Kick an 8-foot ceiling. This has been one of my quirky goals since I was in high school. Last time I checked, I'm about an inch from my target.

There you have it, my current bucket list. Perhaps I'll kick the bucket at the same time I kick the ceiling. That would be pretty remarkable.

Happiness Is...

2010-12-28T18:40:00.000-08:00

After I finished The Happiness Project last month, I decided to compile a list of my own happiness resolutions for the upcoming year and the rest of my life. In her book, Gretchen Rubin outlined how resolutions differ from goals, because we make and keep resolutions rather than the way we meet and discontinue goals. I really like the idea of a continual project, and so I'm planning to start my new happiness experiment on January 1, and keep it in effect for the rest of my life (I hope). Since the list is currently hanging on my wall in Logan, UT, and I'm lying on my bed in South Jordan, UT, I'll try to remember some of the things on there, as well as including some of the ones that need to be added.

Here are Emily's Happiness Resolutions:

Stretch.

Keep an active mind by reading at least one news article per day and one book per month.

Give three sincere compliments per day.

Look for the good in others. Don't gossip.

Blog.

Love who I once was, who I am now, and who I'm becoming. Accept the past and shape the future. Most importantly, though: live in the present.

Laugh.

Try to see others' points of view.

Tune in to spirituality; understand what allows me to feel the spirit most strongly.

Keep an organized mind, heart, and home.

Travel.

Act the way I want to feel.

And most importantly, be Emily. (These last two I stole from Gretchen. Yeah, we're on a first-name basis.)

I'm sure I'll think of more things to add in the coming months, and I hope that my outline will follow some of the same methods that I found in the book. I really like the monthly outlines that Gretchen uses, and I think I'll post a bit each month about my specific resolutions and projects for that particular month. Beginning in January, I plan to de-clutter my bedroom(s) and my mind, freeing up extra space and time for more fruitful projects. We'll see how it all pans out; I'm excited to start focusing on such a simple and profound concept, my happiness, and I hope that I can make a few other people happy in the process.

Wish me luck. It's all smiles from here on out. :)

'Tis the Season

2010-12-22T22:27:00.000-08:00

Amidst the merriment and the yuletide carols being sung by a choir, I'm stuck in a place where there's not a whole lot of decked halls or roasting chestnuts.

That's it, folks. I'm in a Christmas slump.

I started listening to the music so early that it'd frighten even me to admit the actual date. I wrapped all my packages in brown paper, and then I tied them with strings; we all know that the two are necessary for inclusion into the "favorite things" category. I baked and tied, strung lights and cried during the First Presidency Christmas Devotional. Heck, I even drove in newly-fallen snow in order to see the lights strung up and down Main Street of Hyrum, UT, but something was missing.

I can't quite put my finger on it, but I think it relates to my last post. Santa's reindeer haven't flown outside my window in many many years, and I think I need to take a ride on the Polar Express in order to regain some of my Christmas momentum. More than something missing from my Christmas, I think that a little someone would surely help me to feel the anticipation and excitement that I currently lack. I'm excited for nieces and nephews, my friend's kids, and children of my own to remind me that this is the greatest time of year.

Until then, I'll be the big kid who can't quite make the silver bells ring like they should.

The Little People

2010-12-14T16:48:00.001-08:00

I am fully aware of the effect that things have on my life. I have a lot of stuff, and while I'm not a hoarder, I'll admit that my need to acquire can be a bit daunting at times. As I look at my Christmas list and my perfectly decorated apartment, though, I realize that it's not things that really matter at all. That quilt will look cute on the back of a couch, but it's really meant for blanket forts. The vacuum cleaner doesn't really serve a purpose if it isn't sucking up spilled cheerios or sandbox mud. These are the reasons I collect: I'm preparing my home for memories yet unmade. I'm prepping my life for great adventures and love that has been eternities in the making.

I love the littles. I spend 20 hours per week with children, and while that's nothing compared to full-time motherhood, those 20 hours are some of the best of my entire week. I love catching the rare smile of a boy with autism (yes, the same one who pulled my hair out and ripped my cardigan this morning). I love the magic that arrives the week (or month) before Christmas, in a classroom where 22 first graders can't contain their excitement for the real Santa Claus. It gets me every time, and I'm eager to meet their enthusiasm with a healthy dose of my own belief in Christmas magic. I feed off of their untainted views of life, and I leave the elementary school knowing that anything is possible.

They're the reason I do it. I get up in the morning so ready to face another day of screaming and crying, because in the middle of those difficult moments are the ones that shine like gold. The glances from littles looking for approval and love. The shy grins of people who didn't think they could do it until I told them that I believe. I wouldn't trade these priceless memories for all the things in the world, because without them, none of my stuff would have any meaning at all.

Perpetually Positive

2010-11-20T10:30:00.000-08:00

All my life, I've struggled against my inborn tendency to focus on the negative aspects of my life. My parents have called me a pessimist, and I've clung to the ideology that I'm a realist, whatever that is.

Not anymore.

Even fighting against the huge stress headache that I've got going on right now, I can say quite simply that my life is wonderful. Life is hard, and I'm in a constant struggle to find out what I'm meant to do, but deep down I'm so so happy. I'm happy to sit on my couch on a Saturday morning and listen to the wind rage outside of my little apartment. I'm happy to get ready for the day, not knowing which ways the world will turn to surprise and confuse me. I'm happy to give room in my mind to the infinite possibilities of my life.

Yesterday, I planned a trip to New York. Later, I found out that said trip might not happen, and I was forced to readjust my thinking for a new set of plans. So, I think of Salt Lake - tiny town USA - and all the wonderful things that will happen there if I'm unable to make it to the Big Apple. I cherish unmade memories even more than ones that I've experienced, and tears well in my eyes when I think of all the beautiful things that will happen in my life.

Whether it's here or there, alone or with 8 million other people, I'll create a fantastic life where everything I've dreamed will happen.

Pop-Out Plans

2010-11-18T20:00:00.000-08:00

I'm rather adept at living in the moment. It took me years to perfect, but I can honestly say that a ticking clock and a night without phone calls is just fine by me. (Well, almost fine. I'd still rather be with others than by myself.) I can pull out a book, watch a movie, or blog the night away, without any feelings of failure for a socially unproductive night. Then, there are times when all I can do is plan my life away. My head gets lost in some imaginary world, one where it's absolutely necessary to meet incredible people, eat fantastic meals, and be dressed in the greatest couture this world has ever seen.

I've come to realize that my life is rather boring. I am hardly without something fun to do, but that doesn't mean that the average passerby would take any interest in what I'm doing with my life. Why the blog, then? Who am I to post my random observations for whoever wants to read them? At the moment, I've regressed back into that hyper-planning stage that comes about when I have nowhere and no one to better fill my time.

Yep. That's my night tonight. I've planned out all the combinations of outfits that I might wear for my four-day jaunt in the Big Apple next week. I've thought about all the extraordinary meals I'll share whilst I wine and dine my way up and down the length of Manhattan island. Most of all, I imagine that somewhere in the middle of a gigantic crowd, I'll spot some wonderful person who will feel the same metropolitan rhythms that I feel. We'll dance the night away, and I'll turn my four-day escapade into a lifelong adventure, fueled by a magic which is only felt in the city that encompasses all of my dreams.

A Lapse in Vocal Capabilities

2010-11-15T21:51:00.000-08:00

As some sort of wicked November tradition, my voice decides to get all crack-y and manly. When I tried to say good morning to my roommate today, nothing came out. I've had laryngitis a couple of times in my life, and both times have been within the past few years. Amidst the frustrating fact of not being able to speak, I actually love losing my voice. I love the strain and the pubescent squeaks that emit from my tired vocal chords. I love those first few times that a scream comes out as a whisper, and I love the way I'm forced to use other forms of communication to get my point across.

I don't know if this instance will turn out to be full-blown voicelessness, but I will accept it if it happens. Searching for new ways to express myself is one of my favorite hobbies, so it's only natural that I'd take this moment as an opportunity to grow. I'll make my actions speak louder than my words, just like they usually do.

November Leaves Me Oh So Cold

2010-11-07T21:29:00.000-08:00

There's this thing that happens to me when the weather changes. I have an intrinsic desire to make my home warm and cozy, and so I start beautifying, baking, and burning candles, all in hopes of creating the warmth that all picturesque homes should have. I don't have a fireplace, but my two smoke-scented candles help to invoke the aroma of a log-burning stove in the middle of my little apartment.

I just checked the weather forecast for the next week, and where high temperatures in the 40s could get me down, I've managed to imagine all the fancy sweaters and colorful scarves I'll wear during the lengthy Logan winter. During the summer, I dream of bicycle baskets and picnic lunches, riding down the beaches of northern California and absorbing all of the rays of sunshine that my skin can possibly hold. When the seasons shift, my vision changes, and I begin seeing the world in a way such that knee-length stockings and fancy boots are all that I really need. I've managed to accessorize the world of my fantasy so that I appear to be the girl I dream of being.

So let the winter months come. With them I'll take my cocoa and my bright green coats. I'll hang lights in my window and eat soup three nights a week. I won't let the chill affect my ability to create a wonderful life for myself.

Listen Up

2010-11-03T23:26:00.000-07:00

I am constantly amazed by the richness of my ordinary life. I feel the flux of good and bad, yet I'm able to find a constant source of goodness that helps me smile as I'm falling and asleep and awaken each morning with a hope for the day ahead. The last mile post of my all-too eventful evening came with a knock on my door around 11:45, just as I was preparing to get into bed. Although he may not ever know his perfect timing, this best friend of mine stood there as I unloaded my burdens onto his ever-willing shoulders.

I'm a talker. All of you readers should know that my words are seldom few, and I'm quite often found rambling about any number of meaningless subjects. Fewer of you know, however, just how important it is for me to release these things. Whether to a journal or to my best friend, through intense late-night porch conversations or over facebook chat, I'm always grateful for someone who is willing to listen to me. Furthermore, I strive to be that person who is willing to hear the story that my friends need to tell.

We all have something inside of us that we're just aching to release. Most often (at least for me) these things cannot be expressed in words, but it's a comfort to know that someone will wait while I struggle to express my intense string of emotions.

I end almost all of my conversations like I will end this post.

Thank you so much for listening to me.

Em-powered

2010-10-22T21:51:00.000-07:00

I tell people that Thursdays are my favorite day of the week. This is true because of Fridays like tonight, where I am left without plans and choose to spend my evening watching a friend tie flies and psychoanalyzing the hoarders on Discovery channel. My reason for loving Thursdays is as follows: I can anticipate the weekend's greatness without the disappointment that none of my lofty plans will come to pass. Where I envisioned corn mazes and an official True Aggie moment, I got "Anne of Green Gables" and an 11:00 curfew. I hope this doesn't sound pessimistic, because I truly relish my weekends, even amidst their lack of excitement.

So tonight, I blog-stalked. My usual favorite left me with tears in my eyes, and I'm here with her resolution in mind. I want my soul to speak the beauty that it knows, something my clumsy frame and awkward sociality do not accurately portray. I'm a beautiful woman, with so much potential and an aching desire to tell the world how great I think it is.

Life fascinates me. There are many moments when I catch myself in a sort of out-of-body view of the world. Since I spend my days working with some children who are unable to control their speech, movements, or both, I am constantly amazed by my ability to think, move, and reason through my days. Human-ness is incredible, and I'm blessed to be able to appreciate both the world and my part in it.

That being said, there are times when I don't feel right. I get angst-y and restless and irritated by others' imperfections (while, at the same time, being fully aware of my many less-than-perfect traits). Call it hormones or premonition, but I'm in one of those slumps right now, unable to figure out just who is this girl named Emily. I'm feeling a bit lost, and I think a list might help re-establish who I really am.

I love to learn. There is nothing better than cracking open a new book or delving into a subject about which I was previously ignorant.

I am a domestic diva at heart. I'm set on creating a picture-perfect home, complete with my homemade delicacies, hand-knit afghans, and floors that shine like the top of the Chrysler Building.

I crave personal time. My love language is definitely quality time, and I am obsessed with measuring and allotting my time for the people whom I love the most. I appreciate one-on-one interactions much more than large group outings, even though I'm a more social person in large groups.

I over-think everything. It's a nasty habit and a constant setback, but I'm very aware of it.

I'm a little bit confused about who I am, but each day I give myself a blank slate with which to create a beautiful story. I am Emily, and I am em-powered by all the things that make me uniquely me.

A Life of Writing

2010-10-20T14:10:00.000-07:00

I shouldn't be doing this. There is a huge stack of files sitting next to me, and I should be thumbing through them instead of purging my mind of its many random observations. I can't focus on codes at a time like this, so in this moment I'm choosing to write.

I realized yesterday just how in sync my life is with those grandiose plans I made for myself. I've been given remarkable opportunities to serve, and I relish the ways my mind has expanded to see the need around me, equal to or even greater than the needs addressed by all those NPOs and "Give-a-year" foundations. I've found diversity in a place I originally thought was full of white privilege. I help students realize their potential, and in doing so, I've realized my own. Each day I find something or someone new to love, from crimson burning bushes to the lopsided crown of a birthday boy. I inhale the day with a deeper awareness of my own humanity, of the pulse in my chest and the incessant string of thoughts in my mind. Like a sponge, I absorb the world and secrete my own flavour of Emily-ness.

This. My writing. This is why it all makes sense.

The Dawn Knows No Reprieve

2010-10-12T23:33:00.001-07:00

I'm a girl of the night. I love sunsets and windows that reflect the last rays of glorious orange sunlight. I always feel an ache when I notice the shortening of summer days, but I relish the emergent early darkness with a different kind of love. Tonight as I left a class up on campus, I looked out across beautiful Cache Valley and stared at the brilliant hues of twilight. Something stirred inside me, and a smile lit up my face amidst the darkening skyline. Combined with the crisp fall air, I'm returning to that all-too-familiar wonderland where bustling city streets sweep me along and fabulous green outerwear colors my life. I recognize that none of it is real, but it gives me a smile, nonetheless. Even if I'm not in a fantastic big city, I'm able to capture those moments between campus and the parking garage as something grander than the life of a simpleton. I am definitely not simple.

As I give in to the persuasion of my comfortable bed (and as the after-effects of too much Dr. Pepper wear off), I'm taken away from the night that I love. Don't worry, the soft glow in my window just means that I'm wringing out every last ounce of goodness from my supersaturated day. I love life.

An Itty Bitty Pity Party

2010-10-04T23:19:00.001-07:00

Allow me to complain for just one post.

Most of the time I'm fairly forthcoming about my imperfections. I'll be the first to admit all of my major (and minor) flaws to a crowd, and I'm pretty quick to laugh at all of my quirks. I don't even have a most embarrassing moment, because I'm both easily embarrassed and easily assuaged from those feelings. I've pretty much learned to roll with life's punches, but that doesn't mean that there aren't things I'd like to change about my circumstances.

I'd like to get asked on dates.

I don't think any of my guy friends know just how flattering it would be for them to take me out, even once. I can spend hours with the opposite sex without them ever realizing that I'm interested in them, let alone that they could initiate some sort of reciprocal friendship (or the potential for a relationship...) without me demanding an engagement ring or some sort of long-term commitment.

When I see all of my other girlfriends getting asked on multiple dates by multiple guys, I often wonder where I'm lacking in the whole flirting/being attractive department. I am constantly trying to be the best version of myself that I can be, but that version doesn't include someone with a high-pitched phony laugh or a trendy hairstyle/wardrobe. The real Emily only knows how to love and care for people like they're already the most important people in the world. I don't know how to impress them to think the same about me, though. I don't mean to put myself on a pedestal, but I often wonder if my maternal caring- and nurturing-side is scaring off the boys from wanting to date me. After all, who wants to date their mom?

I don't think I'll really ever know the answer to these questions. Please don't think for a moment that I'm not happy with my life, though. I have the most incredibly caring and kind guy friends that a girl could ask for. Now, if only I could get a date, I'd be set.

The Stuff

2010-09-27T23:10:00.000-07:00

I fill my life with objects, people, and memories that are not permanent. I have weird ulterior motives that I don't even understand, and I'm not sure which is worse - admitting that I'm not perfect or admitting that I don't want to be perfect. Right now, my bookshelf is half-filled with the books I'm most proud to own and have read. The other half contains all the books that I want people to think I've read, or books that I aspire to read, if only I had the time. Sadly, though, any time anyone looks through my books, they only ask about the books that fall into the latter category, and I'm left to explain that "I've heard it's a good book, too..." I write a blog, partially for others, (because wouldn't we all like to think that people read our thoughts?) and partly because I enjoy my own writing. I love thinking about sharing this stuff with my posterity someday, even though I'm sure they'd be bored to tears if they heard one more story of me baking banana bread and laughing uncontrollably on a Monday night. Seriously, guys, my life is pretty boring. I use stuff to make me feel better about the fact that I'm still in Utah, without any prospect of moving or having some sort of grand adventure. Please dismiss the fact that my normalcy is unavoidable, and feel free to continue thinking I'm some sort of genius.

{Don't stare too hard or you'll notice all those aforementioned imperfections.}

Drink Up

2010-09-23T19:34:00.000-07:00

Tonight I sat in my apartment and pondered the meaning of life. Just kidding. I watched as my roommate wrapped a gift for her boyfriend in crumpled red paper, and I attempted to explain my current status as an ever-happy single girl. Please believe me when I say that I'm so happy. This isn't even something I have to convince myself to believe; I feel it each morning as I anticipate what funny phrases or absurd experiences I'll have. Today's highlights include:

Watching fifth-grade boys dance to Usher's "Caught Up." Absolutely hilarious.
Hearing a first-grader say, "I'm questioning: where did I come from? who made me?" and watching her classmates all respond, "God!" Out of the mouths of babes.
Going to my other job--the one with smart people--and having my boss tell me that I have a post-it note stuck to my butt. It gets better. The sticky note definitely said "Have some!" on it.

In the midst of the wrapping-paper conversation, I mentioned to Carissa that my relations with boys extend just as far as my supposed talents are concerned. In a one-week span, two of my really good guy friends proposed the idea of having me as the lead female vocals in their imaginary bands. Ha. I don't think I sing well enough to be backup, let alone the lead vocals in a "She & Him" cover band. Then, last night, Kade told me that we need to design our own television show for HGTV. Sure, wandering around Home Depot usually brings out the home decorator in all of us, but I don't find my taste in window coverings to be anything inspired. Whatever. Alas, at the moment I'm nobody's girlfriend, but I'm both a musician and a designer. Take that.

One Trick Ahead of Disaster

2010-09-12T00:22:00.000-07:00

Right now, my life definitely parallels that scene from Aladdin where he does all the fancy dodging and jumping in order to escape the guards. I'm not quite as nimble as I need to be, but I am using my fair share of ducking and sprinting in order to avoid all of the pressures around me. I'm running from adulthood. I'm fleeing the responsibilities and maturity that I should embrace. I've made it to "one jump ahead of the breadline," but it's just because I'm a split-second quicker than the others. While my parents continually warn me about the dangers of not settling down, I know that my air of restlessness is just one whiff in a world of clueless pre-adults. I read all about it online one day, and even though it's debatable and disproved by many of my more-responsible peers, I'm one of the statistics that makes this study believable. (Read more about it here.) I'm flipping through life - not entirely without a plan - maintaining my grip on reality only as far as tomorrow is concerned. Check back next week to make sure that those steadily-approaching duties don't have the best of me.

Doing That Thing I Do

2010-08-16T20:45:00.000-07:00

Cities are my thing. I thrive amidst millions. I love the smells and the rush of air that comes from subway tunnels and skyscraper hallways. I feel alive as I hurry up and down the stairs that get me to the 'L.' Mostly, I love the way that cities – any city – can hold me in their grasp in just a few days. It doesn't take long for me to feel a part of the metropolis. I need one good map, a train ticket, and my ever-ready air of confidence to turn me from tourist to resident. Yesterday, a couple of people came up and asked me for directions. I don't know if they assumed I was a Chicagoan, or just a less-lost tourist than they, but it boosted my ego and reaffirmed that cities really are my thing.

We watched the Blue Angels perform at the Air and Water show yesterday afternoon. I trembled at the speed and daring feats of these awesome airplanes, and I relished my spot in the shade, overlooking Lake Michigan. We also walked up to Lincoln Park, even though we gave up finding the zoo in search of a more appetizing pizza adventure. Giordano's definitely didn't disappoint, and I took 3/4 of my awesome stuffed pizza home to enjoy over the next couple of days. The best part of my day was probably the 30 minutes I spent relaxing on Navy Pier, watching the sun set behind the magnificent skyline. I took lots of pictures and absorbed the moment as deeply as I possibly could. The architecture tour fascinated me; Chicago really is a city of a million different styles of incredible buildings. And while I can't say that it's my favorite city, or even that I'd really want to live here in the future, I'm so glad I had the opportunity to visit. I'm grateful for every chance I have to recognize my “things” – from Anthropologie cardigans to eclectic home décor, and most importantly cities – and understand a little more about this person named Emily.

How I Take My Steak

2010-07-28T17:58:00.000-07:00

I have sometimes performed the cost-benefit analysis of vegetarianism. Here's my confession for all you bean-eaters out there: it's usually a piece of red meat that stops me from altering my lifestyle and decreasing my carbon footprint. No one needs to worry, though. This post is not really about the fact that I'm a "medium" girl, who enjoys a nice steak sauce and a twice-baked potato next to my 12oz. Tri-tip. There will actually be no other steak references in this whole post... well, maybe one.

I'm dating someone.

I'm in love with this someone.

Now, while you pick your jaws up off of the floor, I'll tell you that this isn't a brand new development. Neither is it something that has been in the works for millennia (unless you're one of those pathetic people who believes that they exist for one person only). I didn't expect the life-changing events of Summer 2010, but I wouldn't trade them for all the exposed brick on the Upper East Side. I've come to the conclusion that my life plans will change on a dime's notice, and I'm happiest when I trust that everything will work out for the best.

Here's where I connect the rather disconnected thoughts of this post into something meaningful:

Even though I didn't expect this relationship, I'm kind of thrown by all of the people telling me, "Whoa. I never expected you two to date each other." I don't know if I should take offense at the possible implications of this statement. I actually don't care what people think about my relationship with Jacob. I know that I want to date him, and I'm the only one who has to make that decision (well, besides him, of course). Once, Jake explained the situation with a steak-related analogy. Sure, I take my steak medium, and you take yours ultra-well; it doesn't matter either way, because I'm eating my steak and you'll eat yours. We don't share our relationships any more than we share our meat preferences, and so I don't quite understand all of the statements of disbelief that I've received over the past few weeks. Jake and I obviously have a connection, or we wouldn't be together. Any other opinion is a very moot point.

There you have it. I'll take him the way I like him, and that's just the way he is. I don't need any criticism about how "surprising" it is to see such "different" people together. We're happy being that "unexpected" couple, and if you actually see us together, you'll probably eat your words. No pun intended.

{Here's a good picture of me and my Jacob. He's definitely better than any cut of beef.}

The Much-Appreciated Nap

2010-07-11T13:27:00.000-07:00

For this upcoming week, I'm making one vow: I will nap more.

I have had only one decent-length nap in months, and with my absolutely necessary nocturnal activities, I've been averaging about six hours of sleep each night. I don't complain. In fact, I've even stopped yawning (unless it's past midnight or the conversation is lagging). I think my body is trying to tell me that I could survive 3:00 am feedings or 5:30 am alarm clocks. Let's hope that both of these possibilities are many years off, though. I might even be able to admit, albeit reluctantly, that this sleeplessness has increased my productivity and my overall happiness. Don't try this at home friends; I do not endorse any stimulants in replacement of my napping. Maybe the reason for my nap-less life is a direct result of all the great things that have happened to me over the past couple months. Who needs sleep when you can bake bread or give balloons to a child? What kind of nap could possibly take the place of an outdoor adventure or a conversation with a dear friend? Wow. It sounds like I've just made a pretty strong case against naps, which was definitely not my intent.

Yes. There will be naps this week. There will also be cookies, summer school, books, and lots of hugs. I think I can safely say that they will all be great.

Practically Perfect

2010-06-22T00:06:00.000-07:00

I have managed to escape my blog for the past few weeks, knowing all along that I had much more to say than I would ever post publicly for the world to see. While I'm sure that all of my readers would love to catch a glimpse of my many journals, know that they're much more clichéd and boring than you'd probably enjoy. For all my cyber-stalkers, though, my life is one-of-a-kind, and I'll live each day striving to fulfill that supposed title.

Wait a minute. My life is one-of-a-kind. I'm Emily, and I'm so excited to be the best version of me that I can possibly be. Even with all of my many quirks, I've discovered that people like me best when I'm that real Emily, the one who spills and blunders and cries in sappy films. I'm (slowly) learning how impossible it is for me to please everyone, though. I can't be the everyone in the world's best friend, and as much as I'd like to have everyone like me, it's not a realistic goal. Knowing this makes me discouraged at times, and at other times, I feel empowered by my many imperfections and the ways that they allow me to connect to others. Nah, I'm not perfect, but I'm pretty darn good at being that way.

Desperation

2010-06-05T00:01:00.000-07:00

My life has reached a new low. Judge if you must, but I'm fully willing to admit when I do something that might be considered "low-class" or "despicable." In this case, I'm sitting in the stairwell of a neighboring apartment complex, leaching off of their wireless internet connection. It has been over 24 hours since I last connected to the world outside my little circle of friends. I thought that I would have missed a lot - budding facebook romances, new pictures, an infinite array of status updates - and when I saw the "300+ New Updates" link on my facebook wall, I knew that I would finally feel that hole close as I stalked my way into various lives. What I didn't realize, however, is how inconsequential those mundane updates would be in the place of my own adventures.

No, I'm not gallivanting through Europe. I'm not even psyched about some upcoming concert or an unknown wedding. I'm just living a normal life, in a little town that can't decide which season to endorse. I walk through various puddles, escaping the arid climate of Utah for just a moment as I pretend that this green valley has a direct link to the Swiss Alps. I have incredible friends (have I ever mentioned them before?) and a life that I wouldn't trade for all the high-speed internet connections in the lower 48. I don't even need facebook to tell me that.

A Little Catch-Up

2010-06-01T18:01:00.000-07:00

Barring any tomato-based reference in my post title, I'm going to try to pedal through a month of adventures and back to my presently wonderful life.

With the end of school came a lot of added free time for my friends. While I still work an exhausting 19.5 hours per week, I found time in my hectic schedule for bike rides, late-night outings, and a few trips out of state. I had a wonderful weekend in Driggs, Idaho with a bunch of my very close friends. The following week I sardined myself into my friend's Mazda in order to drive with four other girlfriends to California. We hit up all the sights, and my favorite souvenir is definitely the great tan I brought back to overcast Logan.

I think that covers most of my life over the past 25 days. There are other things - great things, to be specific - that I'm still waiting to write about. I have got my future vaguely figured out, and I know that even if things don't go exactly according to my plans, I'll be able to wring every ounce of goodness out of the trials and blessings I have been given.

{Just a glimpse of the smothering happiness that occurs when I'm surrounded by children.}

Looking Back

2010-05-07T00:04:00.000-07:00

I always write when I should be asleep. I think that purging my mind of its many random thoughts is a good way to induce sleep, although I hope that reading these posts isn't making any of you readers sleepy, too.

Tonight I spent another wonderful time with my many great friends. I am still adjusting to the fact that school is over (for the college students... not for me) and that everyone is leaving for the summer. I think that these adjustments always make me a little nostalgic, even if I anticipate the next phase of my life with great enthusiasm. I'm just grateful for the many people I've gotten to know over the past weeks and months. Without them, this tiny town wouldn't have nearly as much of my heart as it does right now. As it is, though, I'm settled, waiting for the next chapter of my life to fall into place. I'm just so glad that I have such incredible friends to help me through it all.

Today as I drove to work, I noticed my rearview mirror slanting to give me a skewed view of what was behind me. I quickly reached to straighten the mirror, positioning it so that I could see just the side of my eye as I glanced out the back window. From this new angle, I appreciated the span of my backwards glances, even if I didn't really need them all that often (roads in Logan aren't often congested enough to use a rearview mirror). I caught myself analyzing this small gesture, and I understood the beauty of a simple mirror a little better as I saw more clearly than I had before. I think that the mirror, my journal(s), and my friends all enable me to appreciate what is behind me while allowing me to maintain my focus on what's ahead. I learn so much from the past, but I'm also able to use that information to guide my future. I think it's a beautiful cycle and I'm excited for the added depth and perspective I'm getting from adjusting my life's mirror.

All the Single Ladies

2010-04-28T18:49:00.001-07:00

To All the Single Girls. And Yes, That Includes Me:

Each day I wake up and wonder what sorts of cultural and societal influences will bombard me, trying to make me feel like crap before I have a chance to put up my guard. Today is not one of those days, though, and I feel like I can take on anything, be it screaming children, obnoxious undergrads, or nauseating couples trying to flirt with one another. I think that while I'm feeling so empowered, I must share some of my wisdom with the world.

Please, please, please stop looking for guys everywhere. Yes, they are everywhere, but no, that does not mean that any one of them is your future "someone." Your appeals for the perfect guy are going unheard, and the sooner you realize he doesn't exist, the better off we will all be. If I've come to know anything in the past four months, it is that no guy is perfect, and neither am I.

Happiness does not lie in some unrequited love, contrary to all popular love songs (especially those by this girl). I respect anyone with a decent talent for writing lyrics, but those lyrics usually mean more to the writer than to anyone listening. Even if they do describe your life perfectly, know that it is probably a fluke, and that your life is no more a fairytale than mine or Sylvia Plath's. The sooner you know this, the more time you'll have to fully appreciate writing your own happy ending, not something cliche but something great.

Now here comes my snarky side. I'm sick to death of hearing 20-year-old (or 19... or 27, for that matter) children complain about not having someone to love. You know what I found? That someone to love stares back at me each time I look in the mirror. She's been there for 23 years, and she'll be there a whole lot longer than any fling. The sooner you get comfortable in your own skin, the more you'll appreciate how this world was not made for couples any more than it was made for creatures without opposable thumbs. God made all of it for all of His children, not just the ones with a ring on their left-hand finger. Loving myself has become the key to solving almost all of my problems; no matter what the beauty magazines or my Utah "culture" says about my divine worth, I know that I am better than a number on a scale, an age on a wedding video, or the number of carats in a diamond ring. I don't know how to make others believe that, too, but the sooner we realize that it doesn't take anyone but ourselves to make us happy, we'll all breathe a little easier.

There you have it. For once, this is a principle whose success I have definitely measured in my life. No amount of money or fame can bring me ultimate happiness. Not even a grand vacation can be the final marker of my worth in this world. It is the love I have for myself and the love I have for others that really truly matters, and I want all of you to know that, too.

The End.

Take a Look

2010-04-22T22:54:00.000-07:00

Most of the time I can look at myself in the mirror without analyzing anything too much. Some of the time, I even manage to think, "I look decent," or "I look good," without too much forethought. However, there are times when I catch a glimpse of myself with a face like this and wonder how I was possibly blessed with such awesome talent for ugly faces.

{At this point I'm just grateful that I'm not missing any teeth.}

Actually, Amy Winehouse might have it worse than me; I've refused to post such heinousness on the interwebs, so as to spare my future children from the embarrassment of seeing my charmer plastered all over the google search for "ugly faces." I think that I'll really begin an ugly smiles club, though, right next to my mullet madness. The combination of awkward/hideous faces and scragly mullets can't really be beat. I'm sure this will be epic.

Hypothetically Speaking

2010-04-06T16:06:00.001-07:00

If I were invited to a Jesus Birthday Party, I just know I'd show up and make some sacrilegious comment or perhaps show a picture like this.

If I were to have a completely normal day, sans flooding toilets, spilled bubbles, and children screaming "cheese curds PLEASE!" I might not be able to sleep as well at night.

If I were the only person left in the whole world, I still think I'd find someone else to talk to.

If there were only one thing left in this life for me to do, I think loving would be that thing... and I'd strive to do it the best I could.

Vindictive

2010-04-02T16:54:00.000-07:00

Confession:

I'm a person who relishes when others get "theirs," you know, the comeuppance that every horrible person deserves after wronging me in some way. I sometimes think about retaliation, from tire-slashing to embarrassing photos, and I've been known to fantasize about how I would make someone pay for the ways in which they've hurt me. This doesn't often help me feel any better about the situation, but it gives me a little pleasure to know that I'm attempting to take another's fate in my hands. I feel vindicated by my vindictiveness, and I appreciate the times that I'm able to address my frustrations head on with a little bit of pre-meditated evil.

No worries, though. I would never actually do harm to another. The fun lies in my imagination.

Windy

2010-03-29T23:20:00.000-07:00

I don't know why my brain does this to me. Sundays and Mondays are the hardest. Nights are usually difficult, too. I'm stressed about living, and I'm constantly concerned about the things over which I have little to no control. As my emotions rise to the surface, my mind collapses under the weight of my heart. My head - my sanity - is jeopardized by the strength and tenacity of my ever-growing need to love. I can't do it alone, and I refuse to go any further until I know where I stand.

My consolation tonight is the wind. The turbulence I hear outside my bedroom window is a direct correlation to the whirlwind in my head right now. I know that all of the fears I have are nothing compared to the peace and love I have felt. If only I could tie a kite string to my heart, letting myself get carried away with the gusts and gales of life. I'm ready to take flight.

Imagine

2010-03-17T00:02:00.000-07:00

No. Not the song by John Lennon.

I watched Lars and the Real Girl again tonight, and I was impressed by how much my own imagination plays a part in my day-to-day interactions. I'm always struck by the part in the film where Lars reads a passage from Don Quixote to Bianca. Just like this master, Quixote, we all - in our own ways - enact fanciful situations into our normal lives. Forgive me if this post seems a lot like all of my other ones; this is just something I think about a lot, and it's always interesting for me to express these thoughts in the imaginary world of the internet. Here are a few of my Lars-esque moments as of late:

Planning perfect dates with a boy whom I'm still unsure likes me.

Imagining that I have enough money to buy things from anthropologie, like this.

Even better, thinking up the places I'd wear the aforementioned item, seeing as my life as a socialite is not very notable.

Thinking of all the fun places I'll walk, ride my bike, or explore once it warms up enough... and as soon as my foot heals.

Writing the book that I know is inside me, the one for which I have a title and nothing else written.

All the other stuff.

I am Lars. I'm a girl who imagines. I think too much, and I don't feel enough. I worry a lot, and I'm beginning to wonder if as soon as others believe in my fantasy I'll have to kill it off. Who knows, but I'm trying to mesh my own fantastic Bianca moments into something more real than a giant plastic doll. I guess I'd better get off the internet in order to figure it all out, though.

Fear You Won't Fall

2010-03-12T00:07:00.000-08:00

I never knew that such a perfect song existed, but it does. It came on my itunes today, and it was either the first time I'd heard it, or it was the first time I'd actually listened to the lyrics. I'm continually impressed with the perfect scenarios that seem to enhance my mundane existence into something extraordinary. This moment was one of those extraordinary ones; I sat hovered over my giant journal, writing about how my life is turning into something so much more than I ever imagined. Then, the song. I am astounded, still. I have listened to it at least 10 times in the past few hours, knowing that my feelings are exactly what Joshua Radin describes with his gentle voice. I want him (no, not Joshua Radin... another him) to express the sentiments in this song to me. I feel it. This is my song. For today, everything is good, but I'm still afraid of what I don't know. It is much harder to express this than it is to feel it, but I'm going to get better at doing both, so I can understand what's going on inside this crazy heart of mine. That's all.

{A picture of my giant journal, the best graduation present ever.}

Rehearsals

2010-03-04T15:10:00.000-08:00

Last night as I read a chapter from my newest favorite book, I came across a line that describes my life uncannily well.

"We live each day as if it were merely a rehearsal for the next..."

Last year at this time, there was no where I would have rather been, and I was happy living each day to its fullest. Since then, graduation and the mundane working world leave me in search of something else, and I spend my days at Bridger Elementary planning for secret rendezvouses, hypothetical situations, and that all-too familiar imagined future. I rehearse each action as if I'm just trying to get through the motions of today in order for the performance of tomorrow. Just yesterday, I played with a child outside and wondered if I'd be good mother or not.

Why am I worried about these things? There is nothing in my life right now that points to me having children within the next five years, but I still treat these sweet kids as if my own were watching me from Heaven. While I believe that my future children really do wait and anticipate having me for a mom, worrying and wondering about them does not do me any good. I need to be content with the life I have, instead of acting as if it all came down to some sort of final performance. Each day is its own. We don't get do-overs, and we certainly don't get much heads-up about the scene and line changes in the future. I'm going to use this wisdom to stop acting and just be. I'm going to stop rehearsing and live.

A Deliberate Decision

2010-02-26T22:03:00.000-08:00

I'm vowing here and now to be the most normal girl I can be about this whole situation. I vow to let emotion carry my heart where it may, while allowing my head to keep me sane. I promise not to cry or rant, especially on the blog, even if I don't know what's going to happen next. I know that these commitments will help me to see the beauty of friendship, understanding, and companionship without becoming needy, dramatic, or fickle.

How does that sound?

Is it weird to wake up one day and finally appreciate the birds chirping outside my bedroom window? I love the silence of winter, but I love the returning songs of spring even more. I also love the way the sun actually shines, illuminating the snow-covered mountains surrounding Cache Valley. I don't think that these emotions are related solely to the change of the seasons, even though I'm so ready to be done with the longest winter months of my life. With all of the hopelessness I felt over the past few months, I know that the next adventures of my life are right on the horizon. I'm ready to see what's next, and I'm learning to appreciate the idea that things really can be better than I imagined them. It's all about perspective, I guess. I'm making the decision now to be better than I was yesterday - and better still tomorrow - because I know that the sun rises anew each day, and so can I.

Not So Good

2010-02-20T01:40:00.000-08:00

It seems I'm always discovering something I'm not very good at doing, and while most of these shortcomings don't bother me, there are some things that I really wish I could do better.

1) Flirting. How to do it, how to not be awkward while doing it, and how to gauge whether or not someone else is flirting with me; these are all things way beyond my grasp.

2) Realizing that I can't change others. I think I'm relatively good at acknowledging the differences in those around me, but that doesn't stop the fact that I'd like to change little things to make people a little more suitable to my life, my tastes, or my goals.

3) Remembering the details. I used to be so good at this, but I think my memory is starting to fail me. I can't remember so many of the seemingly crucial moments in my life, and it makes me sad to know that I won't be able to replay these events.

4) All the other stuff, including spirituality, physicality, and intellect. I think that these can all be lumped together, though, because it's generally acknowledged that I'll never be as spiritual, athletic, or intelligent as I'd like to be. I'll just keep working toward it, though.

What things do you wish you were better at doing?

Let's All Do the Hop

2010-02-10T21:34:00.000-08:00

Crutches aren't my friend. I don't relish the idea of hobbling through the (still) icy streets of Logan, but I'm ready to prove myself as I get back on my feet. After a quicky surgery on my foot this morning, I'm officially a one-footed wonder. (Note: I still have both feet, but only one is fully functioning. The other remains propped, iced, and casted in a lovely black boot.) It's amazing how my range of motion increases and decreases with my limited mobility. I find myself reaching farther and twisting awkwardly in order to avoid hopping. Maybe I'm just lazy, but I'm finding that the hop isn't my choice form of movement. I'll do anything to stay off the crutches; I've even resorted to asking my parents for help. What 23 year old does that? I thrive on the idea of independence (minus car insurance, gasoline, and a gallon of milk here or there), so hollering for a glass of water, pain medication, pillows, etc, is not really my idea of pampering. I feel pampered when I can shower and dress myself (which I'm still able to do, luckily). I feel independent in being able to drive my car without my mom freaking out about the clutch. It's only been 12 hours with the crutches and crippledom, but I'm really excited to rediscover my independence and all that comes along with it.

It's All a Facade

2010-02-03T00:45:00.000-08:00

I know I come off as totally put together. Ha. What a joke. I'm beginning to see what a good actor I really am, especially if I've fooled you all into thinking that I know what I'm doing. I believe that RuPaul said it best when he described all of us as donning some sort of costume in order to make others believe something about us. Here's mine: a girl who wakes up at a decent hour in order to get a head start on the day. I take time to read, write, and expand my political viewpoints before embarking on the world to change some lives. In between moving experiences and grandiose adventures, I have time for baking, and I stay caught up on all important pop-cultural references (including Jersey Shore). I perform simple acts of service (most, anonymous), and I make sure that my family knows I love them with multiple phone calls to discuss the day's events. I am usually in bed by 10:30, although I make time for spiritual matters as a perfect end to my perfect day.

Right.

In truth, I don't have anything figured out, and all of the above descriptions are a lie (with a few exceptions... I let you figure them out). I don't know how to get a date, and I certainly don't know how to let a guy know I'm interested in him without coming off like a total freak. My talents do not lie in a flirtatious smile or a winning personality, but I think I'm pretty great, regardless. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I sometimes fall for my own act, which means I'm a better actor than even I think. My idea of perfection falls somewhere among the lies and the fact that I'm lying in my bed at 2:00 in the morning thinking up random things to post on a blog. I'm not anything more than these words, but I recognize that, and I'm willing to strive for something extra, just to prove that my life can really be as great as I make it out to be.

What does your costume look like?

A Post for Mr. Caulfield

2010-01-28T21:15:00.000-08:00

As one of the first literary characters whom I grew to love, envy, even mourn for, I believe that this day would not be complete if I did not pay respect to my first crush, Holden Caulfield (in the realm of literature, that is). I believe that J.D. Salinger accomplished everything I wish to incorporate into my own writing. He gave readers the stream of consciousness narratives of young adults, perpetuating the everlasting youth of our country and our individual desires to feel something unique and apart from the whole. Holden Caulfield experienced life in a vacuum; he did things for himself, and he understood the politics of a world in which he could only change his own mind. I remember the summer when I read Catcher in the Rye. It was different than anything I'd ever read before, and yet it has stayed with me more than most novels I've read. From wandering through Central Park, to broken records saved for a sister, I know that Holden and all of Salinger's other creative characters make me the person I am.

Some great quotes from Mr. Caulfield himself:

"If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth." --the opening lines of Catcher in the Rye

"Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody."

"I'm sick of just liking people. I wish to God I could meet somebody I could respect."

"I'm the most terrific liar you ever saw in your life."

"It's funny. All you have to do is say something nobody understands and they'll do practically anything you want them to."

"I hope to hell that when I do die somebody has the sense to just dump me in the river or something. Anything except sticking me in a goddam cemetary. People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday, and all that crap. Who wants flowers when you're dead? Nobody."

{Rest in Peace, Mr. Salinger}

Through the Trumpeter's Tune

2010-01-27T23:07:00.000-08:00

As I lie in my bed, letting Chris Botti serenade me to sleep, I let the soothing jazz create a memory within my mind. I love the way that music makes me nostalgic. I remember specific moments in my life with the songs that created the soundtrack to those summers, stormy nights, or train rides across the English countryside. In addition to these memories, music also has the ability to create an alternate reality for me. For instance, I know that somewhere in my future I will dance on hardwood floors with all the lights off and all the shades open (if you must know, this fantasy also takes place in a Manhattan high-rise apartment) to Michael Jackson's "Human Nature." My life's songs come in many tunes and lyrics. I find myself through unique instances of musical deja vu, and I know that I become more fully myself as I listen to the soundtrack of my life.

{Just a little snapshot of the beauty that is Chris Botti. As if his trumpeting weren't gorgeous enough.}

Just a Little Pity Party

2010-01-19T21:13:00.000-08:00

Instead of my obsessive compulsive alternating between facebook and gmail, I decided to be a little more productive and create a blog post. I really don't have anything new to say since... umm... my post three days ago, but I'll bore you nonetheless.

First, I must make a confession. I'm so sick of winter, I could spit. Except, then my spit would probably freeze, and I'd slip and fall on my butt. Two days ago I was in awe of the crystalized world of Logan, Utah, but today I'm not too happy about the shivering, slush, or haze. Granted, we had a few beautiful hours today between the snowstorm and dusk, but I'm really just ready for warm sunshine again. Anyway, the one thing I really can't change is the weather, so I must stop complaining.

The other little gripe I have to make goes along with the weather, but it's a lot more personal than the classic "coat or no coat?" conundrum. I'm ready to have a best friend again. I'm sick of planning things with my many different acquaintances, wondering if any of them really like me for more than a once a week taco outing or a Borders run. I hope this doesn't sound like a pity party, because for the most part, I am more than happy to be by myself. I have gotten used to the idea of planning and executing my own personal goals, but I'd still like to have that one friend who never fails me. I think the cold makes me a little bit more lonesome, especially when I see the other cuddling couples around me. I believe, though, that if I'm able to get through January and February without a broken heart or a broken leg (from slipping on the ice), I will be in tip-top shape. After twenty three years of insatiable independence, there is no way that I'm going to let myself get hung up on the mushy longings of so many dramatic girls. I'm much happier when I'm thinking of the ways that I will change my life, and, in due time, find the one person who will love me for who I am. Let us all resolve to be a little stronger, a little better, and a little warmer through these tough winter months.

{What I wouldn't give to be in the "Happiest Place on Earth," wearing sandals.}

Such Is Life

2010-01-16T17:38:00.000-08:00

The more I think about it, the more I have no clue what I'm doing. I can't seem to plan anymore, and the truth is, I don't want to plan. I'd like to let spontaneity rule the immediate future, but I'm afraid that this freedom will leave me alone and burnt out. I'm ready for something bigger than just a daily routine; I'm looking for a whirlwind, a storm, a fantasy. Give me a sheet of paper, let me write. I know what I want, but I don't know how to create it. I just need a life that feels like my own, not a lie that feels like a dream. I need one little push in order to soar. Please, someone, give me that boost.

How Will I Measure This Year?

2010-01-01T22:31:00.000-08:00

In keeping with my past two entries which focused on art and music, I'm stealing a well-known line from my favorite musical, Rent, to express my anticipation, anxiety, and awareness for the many unknown adventures that lie ahead of me. But first, let me measure the many events that happened over the past 525,600 minutes of my life.

Miles: I traveled over 10,000 miles (not counting what I clocked on my odometer) as I journeyed across America and Europe. I felt both the ties and loneliness that distance can create. I learned that even though I might be a few time zones away from my friends, we can be close in heart.

Sleepless Nights: I managed to complete college without any academic all-nighters. However, that does not discount the fact that I spent many evenings plowing through difficult books, writing impossible papers, or fretting about my future.

Births: I am in the stage of my life when many of my friends are starting their own families. While I have yet to be present for a live birth (I think I'll save that for a while, too), I am so excited for the growing stomachs and expanding hearts of my dear friends.

Deaths: I think this one rings a little truer to home than the births category. Fortunately, I did not lose anyone in my immediate or extended family (and I hope to continue that trend for many years to come), I experienced the loss of one of my ladies. Even though I got paid to work with her, I came to love her dearly over the three years that we spent together. Even more, I felt the tragic deaths of family friends and loved ones, and I hope that those people know how deeply I mourn for their losses. Also, RIP Michael, Farrah, Patrick, Bea, and all the other Hollywood people we lost in 2009.

Laughter: From great friends to inside jokes with myself, I think that I have learned how to laugh with greater abandon, and I have realized the wonderful blessing that humor is in the most difficult of times.

While I have fewer concrete plans at this point in my life than I think I ever have before, I'm excited to learn to depend on the Lord to plan my next set of adventures. I know that amidst all of the many trials I experienced in 2009, I would not have chosen any different route for the ultimate happiness I found. I pray that this new year holds even a minute portion of what my grand imagination dreams it does. I have quite a few minutes, hours, and days to figure it all out, though, and I'll keep you all posted on how that goes.

My Philosophy:

2009-12-08T22:51:00.001-08:00

No, not one of Sally's many philosophies from "You're a Good Man Charlie Brown." Not even something profoundly written by Aristotle or Socrates. My philosophy comes from one of the weirdest, yet most original people to ever walk this earth. His name is Andy Warhol, and he's one of my crazy/fantastic heroes. He had the ability to make art from the world around us. He believed life to be one grand joke, and he lived every day as though it were made for him. That's why his philosophy is mine:

"Every day's a new day."

I have it written and sitting on my window sill. I see it as I get up each morning, and I notice it before going to bed each night. It is this philosophy that keeps me grounded in the moment, for as we all know, only today really matters.

A Day in the Life

2009-12-08T17:59:00.001-08:00

I would like to live a Beatles song. Maybe not one where they're all high, like "I am the Walrus" (well, maybe I would like this one... coocoocachoo) or "Sun King" or even "Revolution 9," but a Beatles song nonetheless. I just think that I would enjoy my day more if it were a song like "A Day in the Life" or "Blackbird" or most definitely "When I'm 64." While I see myself as a modern-day Eleanor Rigby, I do not think that I'm above using a silver hammer to knock some sense into my friends. I also want to marry a man named Jude, and I hope we have a daughter named Lucy and a son named Rocky. Let's just say that I'm quite a fan of the Beatles, and I think that my life is better if one of their songs plays during my day. The end.

Just kidding. One more. My favorite.

A Brief Rant

2009-12-02T16:11:00.000-08:00

I'm a little bit riled up right now, and I didn't see facebook as the appropriate forum for my words. So here I post, and I hope that whoever reads this will know that it is an opinion, based in research, and not declared as fact.

I am so sick of people who want others to fail. Where I am sometimes guilty of looking down at others or making snide remarks about another's misfortune, I believe that it is all of our duty, as children of God, to wish the best out of one another. That said, I cannot believe some of the hasty, heartless, and haughty things that I have read today. I don't believe that our democratic government set us up to wish each other to fail, but I feel like some people have taken recent the election, bills, speeches, etc of President Obama as an excuse to attack any group of people for their specific beliefs.

Now I'm not saying that we all have to think the same way. The beauty of this world is the fact that we have over 6 BILLION different opinions waiting to be shared. I do not believe that I have the right to declare my opinion as fact, but I do believe that I have the right to think/choose/act in a way that I feel reflects my personal ideologies and my core principles. I wish all people would feel the same way, but as for forcing them, I cannot do that.

Our country is great, and for the first time in a long time, I feel proud to be an American. I know many people throughout the world who look to America and see a promised land; I don't think we realize just how good we have it, because we are too busy looking for the faults of an imperfect leader that a subtle majority voted into office. Let me just say, Barack Obama doesn't run America, and neither does Congress or the party who holds more seats in the Senate. Americans run America: the hardworking, willing, hoping, fighting people who want to see this country succeed. There are 330 million of us, and I would like to see all 330 million one day wake up and realize that it's their responsibility to, like Gandhi said, "be the change [they] want to see in the world." That's it. We can do it. I know we can.

And PS, I love this man:

And So I Write

2009-11-17T22:37:00.000-08:00

When I can't understand, I write. I dream. I hypothesize. I hope.

I believe that this world has something greater for me, but I'm not quite sure what that something is. I want it to be somewhere far away. Somewhere that looks like this:

[Unique, New York. Unique, New York.]

[Beautiful Boston.]

[Lovely London.]

[Dreamy Drammen, Norway.]

[Bonita Barcelona.]

I feel privileged and blessed to have been to all of the above places (and yes, I took those pictures) without ever having lived in any one of them. I can't wait to return, though, for it is when I envision my life outside of Utah that I feel truly happy inside.

Compartmentalized

2009-11-06T07:54:00.000-08:00

I'm confused as to which compartment I belong. I don't know how to squeeze into a 3x5 box in order to fulfill the requirements for a "good"_______ (anything, really).

I think we all do it. We're always ready to put someone neatly into a social box: the smart ones, the lame ones, the friendly ones, the perfect ones. I don't believe that I fit into any single box, and that's where I become most lost and confused. I feel torn by immediate and unnecessary passions. I can't decide which part of me is more important, the intellectual or the charitable one (because we all know that "scholar" and "philanthropist" are polar opposites). I don't know if I've created a world full of compartments, none of which fit me perfectly. And yet, I can't dig a tunnel between the two; there's nothing connecting me and my interests except for a few friends and random google searches.

Like the New York City skyline, lit up with tiny squares of separate lives, we all live in pin pricks, in holes that only we can fill. We create these worlds for ourselves, and although we're excluded from participating in all of the compartments (for no one can be that smart or that well rounded), we're able to create a light that, in turn becomes part of a beautiful skyline.

I'm Gonna Be Better

2009-11-05T21:26:00.000-08:00

I think that two days in a row might be an all-time first for me. Instead of stalking all the usuals before heading off to bed, I decided to create a little somethin' somethin' myself. Let's hope it goes over well and that this is the first consecutive night of many.

Can I say something real quick? (Rhetorical question: it's my blog, and I can say whatever I darn well please.) I love shoes... and bags... and coats... and... and... Today I got my newest pair of dream heels in the mail, and let's just say that my day was a wee bit brighter after I pulled out the cute box with an even cuter pair of shoes inside. Now for the less-pleasant bit (and maybe some other girl readers can help me out with this one):

How can shoes be so cute and so impractical at the same time? This isn't the first time I've been posed with the problem of fashion over function, and it won't likely be the last. I just want to know how in the world I'm supposed to be that poised woman with awesome peep-toe heels (that inevitably make me 6'2") when my feet feel like they're going to fall off. I'm slowly learning that pain equals beauty in every sense of the word, and I can guarantee that you won't find me complaining (except to my dearest friends and family) about the excruciating pain of a new pair of shoes.

That gets me thinking, though, I could really use a new pair of flats...

{These are godliness in the form of heels. I love Christian Louboutin.}

It All Comes Down to This

2009-11-04T15:30:00.000-08:00

{A picture of my perfect exposed-brick kitchen, minus the red Kitchen Aid Artisan mixer}

I only think to blog when I run out of all other healthy options for procrastinating. Actually, I don't have anything due for the next couple of days, and sans thesis, I find myself with a surprising amount of free time. So while cookies bake in the background, I'll fill any non-existent readers with the high- and low-lights of my all-too unexciting life.

Let me begin by re-emphasizing my love for this time of year. I think that there must be something in the autumn air that gives me hope for the bleak winter ahead. I love fall. I love crunchy leaves and the smell of rotting summer foliage as it returns to fertilize the earth. I love the way inside and outside temperatures vary, so that you feel comforted by coming indoors and refreshed when you go outside. I love the holiday season. There's no need to explain it, other than saying that I feel so alive right now.

In my (other) spare time, I plan for an imaginary future. I apartment hunt for that perfect 2-bedroom walkup in lower Harlem, where I will spend the next two years of my life. I might be chancing fate, considering that I don't know if I'll actually get the job in New York City, but it's just too much fun to pretend that I can plan my life so perfectly. This imagined future is the only thing I know for sure, as paradoxical as that may be. Other than the present and the ideal, I don't know where my life is headed. I live in the moment, but I cannot understand my actions any more than I can predict the future.

Oh, and one last thing: I graduate in 4.5 weeks. Yes, four point five weeks until my life belongs to me again. I am ready to bid the bureaucratic university adieu and resume the reading that has sat on my shelf for far too long. Maybe I'll even find a new hobby, like glass blowing, to fill the extraordinary amount of leisure time I will have. Again, another ideal that we both know won't be filled by any major productivity. Oh well.

Have a good one. I must tend to my baked goods.

fuhgeddaboudit

2009-09-29T11:47:00.000-07:00

So, I haven't blogged in an eternally-long five months. I don't know what's gotten into me, but I just feel like I don't have anything to say. My life revolves around school, and with only ten weeks between now and academic freedom, I'm feeling a little bit of pressure. However, instead of being actively engaged in my thesis-writing, book-reading, test-loving life, I spend my days figuring out the best ways to avoid these tasks.

On to better topics:

Guess what? I got a final interview for Teach for America, even without having a phone interview. I feel extremely happy about this, and yet I'm still terrified for the final interview. This is something about which I am passionate, and I cannot imagine spending the next two years of my life in any other service. Let's just hope that it works out for the best. I also talked to a recruiter from TFA yesterday, and she gave me some really sound advice for preparing myself for the interview day and the experience as a whole. It was good to voice my opinions and concerns about the program, and I feel like I came away with an even bigger resolve to be a part of the TFA corps.

One last thing:

It's FALL! And I love it! And I have plans this weekend to travel to see the witches at Gardner Village! And I'm going to Kneaders! I can't wait!!!

Back from Europe

2009-08-07T20:44:00.000-07:00

I have been back for almost 48 hours, and it still hasn't completely hit me that the most wonderful month of my life has come to a close. There is no way I can express in one blog post, or even many, just how much I learned about myself over the past four and a half weeks. I can't relate all of the times when I recounted hilarious moments with myself because there was no one else to tell. Many people have told me that they could never travel by themselves, but I challenge everyone to find somewhere to get away and be alone with only your thoughts and your emotions. It is a powerful experience, and there is no way I would trade my semi-solitude for the company of another. I had an incredible time, and I really hope I get to share all of my many memories with the readers of this blog. That being said, please tell me to shut up if my ramblings ever get to be too much to handle. I have a tendency to tell stories even when no one cares to listen.

I just wanted to share one of my final journal entries before flying back to the good ol' U.S. of A. This culminates a lot of my thoughts about the trip, and I really like the ideas inside. It explains a lot of details about my final adventure in England (you can skip over that part, but it really is pretty good). Most of all, read the last part; I think it perfectly explains all of the things I learned over the past month.

Today (August 4, 2009) was both the highest and lowest point of my trip. Low point #1: leaving London. I fell even more in love with that city over the past two weeks, and I will do whatever it takes to return there as soon as possible. I made my buses and train to Gatwick without any problems, and I was pretty positive concerning the rest of my trip. And that's when they lowered the boom on me. I stood in line to check my bag, and I was nervous about all of the signs I saw concerning hand baggage size and dimensions. I knew that my bag wouldn't fit into the provided corrals, but I knew that if I could sneak it in, I would be fine. So I checked my one bag, proceeded to security, and received the horrible news that I couldn't go any farther with my second piece of hand luggage. I had no idea what I would do, so I walked back over to Easyjet to see what options they could give me. They told me that I would have to pay for the additional bag, and any additional weight on top of my 20 allotted kilograms. Well, my first bag weighed in at 20.4, so I would have to pay the price of 9 pounds/kilo on top of the 16 pounds for an additional bag. I was immediately overcome with emotion, as I thought about the cost of taking the bag in the hold. The man at the information desk told me that I had the option to ship my bag as cargo, and I could pick it up when it arrived overseas. With this news, I ran to the shipping counter, hoping that they would be able to help me. The man there was very nice, but the price he quoted me was worse than the first. To ship my bag, I would have to pay 250 pounds, and there was no way I had that much cash to send my bag home. I pleaded to him, hoping he would be able to help me figure out a solution, and we thought that I might have the option to store my bag at Gatwick and pick it up during my layover at Heathrow. He told me that I needed at least 2 hours to make the return trip, and my 3-hour layover didn't leave much cushion in case of delays. I didn't want to jeopardize missing another flight, so I dropped that option and considered doing the other thing he suggested; namely, calling British Airways and figuring out how to cancel the leg of my journey that would bring me back to Barcelona. This would still leave me with getting back to Heathrow, and I didn't like the idea of paying the fees to change my flight. Plus, I only had about 40 minutes until my flight to BCN left, and I needed to get my first bag off of that plane if I was going to stay in London. It was an awful situation, and I was nearly hysterical as I walked back over to Easyjet to determine my fate. In the 5 minutes walking along the terminal, I decided to pay the extra 196 pounds and take my bag as hold luggage to Barcelona. Even though I could not afford this exorbitant amount, I knew that I had to stick with my plan and rely that things would work out for the best. I went back to the ticket counter, and the man said I needed to wait in line again to check my second bag. With the clock ticking toward my departure time, I walked back over and asked the woman if she would let me stand in the shorter line. She put me there, and I waited for about 5 minutes to see someone at the baggage counter. And that's when things went exactly as if God stepped in and delivered me. I was ushered along to the same man I saw the first time I checked my bags (the same man I told my anxieties to). I stepped up to the counter, and, crying, told him my situation. His face softened, and he asked if I would be able to pay any of the extra fee needed to check my bag. I told him that I could only fork out 30 pounds, and he just nodded his head and said, “That won't be necessary.” I almost didn't believe that he was letting me off scott free, but my bag rolled out of sight, and I thanked the man profusely and told him, “God bless you.” I walked away from the counter with tears of relief and gratitude in my eyes. I immediately said a prayer to thank my Heavenly Father for guiding me out of the awful situation, and I walked to security feeling as if my heart would burst.

In the past month, I have met some of the world's craziest, creepiest, and most heartless people, but I have also met their polar opposites. I have seen the very best this world has to offer, and it comes not in steel or in stone, not in shopping or in guided tours, but in the faces, words, and gestures of the people I have met. The best in this world is Ximena's smile, Alejandra's laugh, watching Mark and Sartan dance it out last night at FHE. The best in this world is the easyjet man, the hot guy on the plane to Heathrow, and the salespeople in the designer shops in the airport. It doesn't take money; it doesn't take beauty (except in the case of the hot guy on the airplane); it only takes a little time, and a little kindness. I truly believe that we can change the world by smiling more often, by holding open the door for a stranger, and by recognizing the need we all have for love. It's inspiring that I can learn more about myself and about mankind than I could ever wish to learn from artifacts in a museum or a library.

Another Adventure

2009-07-24T06:08:00.000-07:00

Never mind the horrible night I had last night. Kidney stones or not, I'm alive and on my way to London as I type this. But, it wouldn't be right if there wasn't something to liven things up on this 2 hour train ride. That energy comes from the general direction of the tap and the 8 wasted sods that occupy my coach with me. Here's what I have to say about them:

It wouldn't be an adventure if something crazy didn't happen every step of the way. In addition to dragging my luggage all around Beansheaf, I am now spending the next hour and a half with the craziest Scots I have ever encountered. I thought that drinking was saved for only the elite European travelers of 2007, but these eight have got alcoholism down to a fine art. It's only 1.30 and the majority of them are already wasted. A rocking train is bad enough when you're trying to keep your balance while sober. There is no stopping these winners, though, and they're topping off their bottles of wine, smirnoff and beer like it's nobody's business. Their antics completely redefine the meaning of a quiet coach. I can't even believe that there are people like this in the world. I've managed to avoid them for the majority of my time here, and their complete disregard for rules and disrespect for others leaves me with no other emotion but disgust towards them. It's appalling to me watch them interact with each other, and I realize that some people really are better off left completely alone. Let them have their stupidity, their alcohol, and their foul language, I know that their happiness is a facade that is only enhanced by their ability to put others down. Save the brawls for the bar, I paid to sit in a train and ride to London, not to partake of your crude gestures and mocking tones. Not everyone can have as much fun as you, but fun or not, I'd rather take life's knocks while sober. That's all.

Mullet Addendum

2009-07-13T16:25:00.000-07:00

After my post about mullets, they started cropping up everywhere I looked. Unfortunately, I was unable to catch any pictures of these rare specimen, because I wasn't in a public space where I wouldn't be noticed. (I can just imagine someone seeing me take their picture on the metro; what a reaction that would be.) Anyway, I just had to let all of you know two more versions of the mullet that I found last week.

1) The dread-mullet: This person cut the top of their hair like they were ready to join a league of professionals, and, perhaps, even wear a tie; but, they get caught by a group of weed-smoking, Marley-loving hippies who force them to reject society and dread their hair as a symbol of loyalty to the Rasta in their soul.

2) The half-hawk, half-mullet: The head of this person is the result of experimenting lengths with a pair of clippers. They first tried a 0 on the sides and weren't sure if they liked the whiteness of their scalp. As an alternative, they opted for a lengthier top... but not so lengthy as to get in their eyes. A 1 did the job quite well, and it left enough for styling into one of those cute little faux-hawks that everyone is wearing nowadays. Here comes the kicker, though: the clippers ran out of batteries before the person could decide the length for the back of their hair. So, with 7-8 inches of gorgeous mane left, they ran with the look. Just watch, he'll be in next month's issue of HairTrends International.

European Adventures: The Mullet Chronicles

2009-07-10T08:51:00.000-07:00

I have decided to chronicle my time in Europe through a series of mullets. I have seen more here than any bad 80s hairdresser, and I've just started taking pictures to create a memory book filled with creative, crazy, and cute (is there such thing?) mullets. One would think that they're all the same, but believe me, a mullet can be worn in many different fashions. Americans have recently become more familiar with the "reverse mullet" worn by Kate Gosselin, but Europeans have yet to catch on to that craze. With only a few styles of mullets under their belts, Spaniards wear them in one of two ways: the business in front/party in back-style, or the "I want a short haircut but I'm not willing to give up my length"-style. The wearer can then decide to pull the mullet back into a half-ponytail, with the top hanging freely, or clip the top whilst allowing the mane to flow gently down their back. It's wonderful that I have finally learned to recognize and respect all the many varieties of mullets. This is one step to becoming a more loving individual. After all, I think Jesus's hairstyle was as mullet-esque as deity can get.

This man wears his mullet proudly at Tibidabo, Barcelona's premiere mountaintop amusement park. Adding to the finesse of his hair is the lovely green backpack, and his enthusiastic smile (not pictured) as he watches his son or daughter on the carousel. Please try not to judge.

On Writing

2009-06-27T10:25:00.000-07:00

I was thinking that I could be a writer someday. I would write stories about life and how people find themselves during the normalcy that we all try to avoid. I would send these stories into a publisher and they would be wrapped and bound with the cape of wisdom that comes to published works. The picture on the front would not represent the characters or ideas in my imagination, as any artistic representation could not do justice to the boundless nature of my irrepressible mind. The pictures would stunt the minds of readers, who looked to these renderings in order to guide their thoughts. My thoughts and words would act as a guide to those looking for their own creative outlet, and I could sleep better at night knowing that my stories had found a place in the hearts of millions.

And then the message popped on my screen that my battery would soon switch over to reserve power, and in only a few minute's time, the power would shut off to preserve the work I had created. How would I ever be able to share my soul's story in fewer than 35 minutes? With life oozing out of my computer, my fingers are not propelled fast enough to compensate for the waning energy. I'll turn off the superfluous programs, darken the screen, and hope to God that these small measures allow me a few extra minutes of synapses and sentences. There would never be another time for me to say these things. Now, with my eyes squinting to see the dimness of my screen, I know that my plans for a marvelous story are well under way.

...

What I Do

2009-06-04T15:41:00.000-07:00

Lately, my time has been filled with awesome adventures. I might not leave the comforts of my home, but I'm able to escape through other means. Recently, I've filled many a spare hour with Photobooth. I never knew I could be so photogenically hideous; it really is a talent. Here are some photos, just for your viewing pleasure.

I'm a one-eyed, one-toothed creepster!

Tyler and me emanating our true artistic abilities.

And now... my dual personalities escape as I sing a duet from "In the Heights"

See you at the Tony's!

And Then She Posted

2009-06-02T20:27:00.000-07:00

I can't believe I have neglected my blog for more than a month. It is not that I don't have the time. Rather, I have just found other things to occupy my day. With jobliness and playingness, I am a busy girl.

In a little more than four weeks, I will return to a land that I love. I can't wait to revisit my friends in continental Europe and Scandinavia. I think that the four little flights might be the most adventurous parts of the whole trip. I hope I can return with my sanity and wallet intact. Let us all pray that I won't become like those girls in the movie Taken. (I refused to watch that movie after being told that my cute cop cab ride was a sin... can you even imagine?)

Other than trip planning, I have notched many more memories into my "Summer Adventure Belt." I reconnected with my friend, Tyler, and we have been able to continue our random outings to the greater land of Salt Lake City and IKEA. We even decided to make our own "Adventure Books" like the one in the movie UP!. I'm sure that we could fill volumes with our many silly adventures; there is no one besides Ty with whom I would rather have those adventures, though. We really are one-of-a-kind.

From happy thoughts to mere rambling: I think that I might go insane if I can't have a good, solid, intellectual conversation very very soon (please note all of the italics in the previous sentence). I don't mean this to sound harsh, but both family and work life leave something to be desired in the realm of intellectual stimulation. Now don't go thinking that I have something against meal planning, television, or boyfriends, but they are nothing compared to the passion that flows in an English classroom. I would even give up Tori and Dean if I could find someone who would teach me more about World War II Britain. My parents have made it very clear that my interests have nothing to do with them, and they distance themselves from me whenever I try to engage them in a topic that I find fascinating. Where my mom likes "The Antiques Roadshow," I enjoy CNN. When I try to talk about books, they bring up "The Readers' Digest" or the "Ensign." Don't think that my interests are in any way superior to theirs; however, they are very different. This discrepancy leaves me feeling alone and alienated in my own home. They have made it very clear that they don't want to like what I like, and I feel basically the same way about their interests.

My rant ends there, but I end with a plea for someone to call, email, text, or visit me to talk about something other than television or school lunch! I beg of you!!!

Instead of Studying

2009-04-28T17:17:00.001-07:00

Who knew that blogging would be so far down on the list of alternatives to being productive. I'd almost forgotten that I had a blog until about two seconds ago when I went and reread some of my past entries. Now I feel like it is an appropriate time to re-address the subject of my bland life as I withstand the homework calling to me from six inches away.

Life is grand! I am almost finished with another semester of school, after which, I'll be off to California, New York, and Europe for a MONTH! I can't wait: another thing adding to my current lack of motivation.

Other things I have done to curb productivity are as follows:

Blog Stalking (of course this is a #1 priority, even when I don't have other activities to be doing).

Making Food (my fridge is now filled with more food than I can possibly eat in the next three days before I move back to live with my parents).

Eating the above-mentioned food (self explanatory).

Writing thank-you notes to anyone and everyone...

*Brief hiatus from list-making to fully endorse note-writing*

I think that everyone should make a list of people worthy of thanks and then sit down to express gratitude to them. I know that this is usually an activity saved for November/December holidays, but I feel just as grateful now as I am in the dead of winter. I'm so happy that I've been blessed with such rich examples and inspiring mentors, and I feel it is the least I can do to be able to share my gratitude with them. I highly encourage anyone and everyone to buy some cute stationary (it just so helps that I found these at Borders for $10!), sit down for 20 minutes, and express your gratitude for the kindness, helpfulness, patience, encouragement, etc. of someone you know. I promise that it will make life just a wee bit brighter, for you and for someone else.

*Back to the list*

Flower arranging (provided by the bouquet that I bought almost two weeks ago from Sam's Club, and that still hasn't completely died).

Phone conversation-ing (I've talked to more people about more things in the past two weeks than I think I have all semester...).

Internet shopping (just today I've added two pairs of pants and some shoes to my repertoire of online purchases... EEK!).

Planning the aforementioned trip to Europe (I scored with my round-trip ticket(s) for a total of $151.59).

Partying, socializing, and then taking the always-necessary decompression back into hermit-dom.

Finding a reason to go to the grocery store every day.

Walking, driving, biking places outside of my normal routine.

And finally... watching, listening to, or otherwise participating in movie-marathons, broadway sing-a-longs, and discussions about whatever movie seems to be playing in my head on a given day.

The End.

Not Always Greener

2009-03-30T22:16:00.000-07:00

I find it fascinating to know how many people would swap lives for a taste of something different. I have always been a person who thought the grass was a whole lot greener on the other side, but I'm slowly learning that that is not always the case. In fact, the life I have is pretty darn great, and I'm sure there are plenty of people who would love to trade me places for the joys of snowy springs, literature obsessions, and antisocial tendencies (these might sound negative, but I promise they're not... okay, maybe some of them are). This week, my roommates have a friend from England staying with us and enjoying all the many adventures that Logan, Utah has to offer. I would never ever pick Utah as my vacation choice, especially if I were from somewhere as beautiful and diverse as the UK. That must be just my personal opinion, because this girl seems to love the bounties of Cafe Rio, Coldstone, and American Eagle. She actually offered to switch me identities so that she could enjoy the comforts that I take for granted, and so that I could have a taste of her life in Kent. After thinking about it for just a split second, I had the realization that my life here in snowy Cache Valley is the only life I would want to live. I would not choose to be anywhere else, doing anything else than what I'm doing now. Granted, I'm not planning on being here too much longer, but I am planning on making the most of it while it lasts. I guess that means that the grass really is green where I am (if you remove the 4 inches of snow that are currently covering my front yard). Not too shabby, if you ask me.

San Diego Splendor

2009-03-12T17:42:00.001-07:00

I have never done something like this before. I have never traveled 1000+ miles to take part in being a "groupie." Yesterday I got home from my 24-hour stint in San Diego, and I must admit that those 24 hours went so well that I wished they were 48, or even 72.
We got in to SD at 3:30-ish, and we had the pleasure of riding a shuttle van to our hotel, which was fifteen or so minutes away from the airport. Our driver was really nice, and we chatted it up about music and other random topics. He even suggested that we come see him after the play, and he would suggest something "fun" for us to do for the evening. Who knows if he was flirting or not, but we enjoyed the company. We never got his name, so he was dubbed with the title "Drover" (not because he was a hot Australian, but because he had an Aussie tag hanging in his window, and because he drove us). The hotel smelled like stale sheets and musty air conditioning, but it was nice nonetheless.
After we got settled in, we decided to mosey on over to the train station and head downtown for the evening. We walked through the beautiful Town & Country Inn, asking people where we could find public transportation. The first lady told us it was on the other side of the "behemoth" building, and her directions proved to be most useful, especially her naming of the grand building that was the hotel. We passed large black ducks and "mallard and girl ducks" as we made our way to Brooke's first encounter with public transportation. I'm happy to say that she wasn't too scarred by the experience, and I might have even sold her on the subject that "white people like public transportation when it's not buses."
We got downtown with plenty of time to spare, and we decided to check out the mall food court to curb our hunger. Brooke went with the vegetarian option of a baked potato the size of your head, and I went to town with my second panini that day. We mostly enjoyed our dinners because we could people watch; there are many attractive males and many annoying females that walk the malls of San Diego.
RENT was amazing!!! Even though we sat at least 1,000 feet from the stage, I was amazed and inspired by the words and lyrics of that play. The people might have been tiny, but I knew that one of them was my love, Anthony Rapp, and that made everything top notch. During intermission we hit up the souvenir stand, and I spent nearly all my money on RENT paraphernalia. Oh the joys of being a RENT-head. After the show, we staked out a place amidst screaming fans, and we waited, and waited for Anthony Rapp to show up. Unfortunately for us (and the girl who was dressed in an identical Mark sweater), he made a sneaky escape to his hotel, and we never saw him. It was then that I made a vow to myself that I would meet him in NYC... someday.
Our post-RENT adventures served to be almost as memorable as the show itself. We walked and walked and walked (in circles, might I add) around the Gaslamp Quarter, trying to decide whether we were hungry, and which of the many bars/clubs/restaurants would serve our hunger needs. After a couple creepy encounters with homeless/drunk people, we decided to hit up Dick's Last Resort for some good ol'-fashioned ridicule. I started off the night well by ordering just a water, and the waitress told me that I should stay home with a baby bottle if that's all I wanted. After we had our drinks, we sat around talking with our pregnant waitress about making customers cry; you know, the normal restaurant experience. She was hilarious, and the pin-up girl matchbooks she gave us definitely topped off our time at Dick's.
As we made our way back to the hotel, the clock steadily moved toward midnight, at which time all public transportation ceases to serve the general public and instead moves to the nightime habitation of the city's homeless population. We made it onto two of the final trains, but while we were on the second train, we realized that we would not be able to make it back to the hotel. Fortunately for our scrambled schedule, we were able to find a cab just outside of the Old Town transit center, and we split a taxi with an extremely good looking male who was in our same predicament. As we drove back to our respective hotels (he was staying at the "behemoth" Town & Country Inn) we discussed all of life's deepest questions: namely, his job in Connecticut and our mutual disdain for Utah. You might say that our souls connected during that 10-minute cab ride, and Brooke can attest to my late night ramblings about the "hot cop." We even tried posting a "missed connection" on San Diego's craigslist, but it wouldn't work on Brooke's cellular device.
Next day: our quest to find "hot cop" is unsuccessful. It could just be that we meandered through the parking lot, hoping he would jump out at us with fistsfull of hydrangeas and love verses, but we didn't spot him again for the rest of the trip. He is now added to my list of "people I'm going to meet when I move back east." The list grows each day.
Instead of waiting around for a man, we decided to do the next best thing: we went shopping! The Fashion Valley Mall, across the street from the transit center, had everything we could possibly want, from Tiffany & Co. to H&M. We were happy girls wishing we had a lot more money to spend. I walked away with only a book and a pair of earrings, and Brooke held fast to her minimal purchases, choosing instead to encourage my deep pockets to give up their free-flowing cash. Not really.
After one mall, we decided to do some more low-key shopping, and we took our tourist selves to Seaport Village, one of San Diego's premiere port attractions with pigeons and Ben & Jerry's galore. We enjoyed the bookstore, pausing to reflect with such literature as Stuff White People Like. After our hunger pangs grew loud enough to distract others' reading, we decided to scope out somewhere for Brooke to get a "homemade tortilla," since we knew that San Diego must be abounding with such flatbread wonders. Our search ended with each of us ordering a cheese quesadilla at Margarita's Cantina, and we were sorely disappointed with our child portions, even though we ordered off of the kid's menu. The best part of the meal was definitely the Orange Bang! and the refried beans stain on my skirt.
With only an hour left before our trip ended, we decided to finalize our shopping at the same mall where we ate dinner the night before. This time, we hit up Nordstrom instead of Cinnabon, but the results were generally the same. We walked away having made a good friend in the Coach store, and realizing that we were much too poor to ever shop seriously at a mall with Louis Vuitton and Michael Kors boutiques.
(You're guessing correctly if you're thinking that I fit into the female generalization of "loves to shop.")
As we made our way back to the hotel, our sense of time slipped into oblivion once again, and we wound up with no ride to the airport and only minutes before our departures. Fortunately for us, we were able to plead with the hotel shuttle driver, and he sped us to the airport for much less than it would have cost to call a cab. This trip truly revolved around our ability to finagle our way out of stupid situations. (I never mentioned the crazy lady in the wheelchair, did I?) Luckily, our problems were never too big to solve, and we made it back with only blistered feet and windblown hair.
There you have the 24-hour adventures of Brooke and Emily in San Diego. Who knew that so much excitement could fit into only one day! And writing this only proves to me that I hope to be able to further extend my travel writing someday.

48-Hours and Going Strong

2009-03-08T21:55:00.000-07:00

I just finished working for 48-hours straight, and I'm actually quite surprised by my emotional state. First off, I've never worked that much time consecutively before. The second-longest shift I've had was over the summer, and I really thought those 40 hours would kill me straightaway. As you can see, I've lived through both, and this past few days was actually one of the more enjoyable times I've been at work in the recent past. Now, to those of you who don't know how it's possible to work for 48 consecutive hours, I'll have you know that I'm no God. I work at a group home with three women with disabilities, and the time I spend with them is usually rather low key. We cook food, go shopping, watch movies, go to church: all normal activities for me, with an extra couple of old ladies in tow. I have a lot of fun, mostly because this job allows me to keep my busy lifestyle while also "working." Don't get me wrong, though, it can be extremely taxing at times. There are emotional stresses with this job that wouldn't be as prevalent in a retail-esque job, if you know what I mean. All in all, it was a good 2 days, and I'm glad that I have the morning off tomorrow before heading back in for another 16-hour shift.
... Then I'm off to San Diego!!!
Snapshots to come!

Am I a Reliable Narrator?

2009-03-04T22:41:00.000-08:00

This semester I'm in a class about memory and trauma. With each new discussion I realize that my life has not been impacted with the pain or joy necessary for a truly great narrative. I hope, however, that I can experience something that will provide me with an inspiring (or uninspiring) story. I hope that my life will someday provide the narrative necessary for a unique piece of fiction or memoir. If this blog is all I've got, though, I'll make the most of it.
With the discussions in my class about how our lives are shaped by memories, I wonder to myself about the reliability of my own thoughts. We all deceive ourselves on a daily basis, telling ourselves that our actions are either more or less important than they actually are. I read about people who think that their existence makes others' happiness possible. While their stories might contain inspiring elements, I am ultimately unimpressed by narcissism and haughtiness. I am equally unimpressed by people who think that their role in the universe is to maintain anonymity. God did not make any of us to stand back and watch life pass us by. But still, how do I train my mind to think certain things about how my life is, how it will be, and how it has been? My thoughts sometimes run away from me, and I'm left picking up pieces of incoherency. Other times, I have deliberate control over whether or not I think certain things. I mask insecurities, smooth imperfections, and accentuate my talents in my mind, and even if those thoughts never form into words, my persona is somehow impacted by thinking these things. Is this making sense?
If my "present" is something totally relative, something without boundaries or narration, am I able to create my existence into something arbitrary or grandiose? In my mind's words, I write the story of my days, my life, and create harmony from disjointed fragments of experience. I think we all do this, and it is my goal to find out how my mind's story differs from those of the people I know.
Tell me your mind's story...

Emily, the Only Over-Achiever

2009-02-25T15:50:00.000-08:00

So all of my other posts have been highly positive, and I promise that this one won't stray far from that motif. However, I just have to say something that is really irking me right now.
I know that everyone knows that I strive to go above and beyond in pretty much everything. My life is far from perfect, but I try to keep things as clear and organized as I can. I keep my room clean, always; I cook good food; I do my laundry once a week; you know, the normal activities of a highly organized (some say anal retentive) person. The same organization leaks into my school work, naturally, and I find myself completing all my assignments with (at least) hours to spare. I don't procrastinate, and I could be classified as an "over-achiever." That said, I'm not one of those who goes so above and beyond as to look desperate, or in constant approval of my professors. I don't visit my professors during their office hours in order to discuss my ivy-league anticipations (I don't even know if I have such anticipations). I don't turn in 3-page papers where only 150 words are required. Are you catching my drift?
Well, the people who bother me the most are not the ones who don't make their beds or who neglect school assignments. I have one up on them, so I really couldn't care less. The ones that bother me the most are the ones who try so hard to be the best at everything that they end up looking like fools. I don't like seeing people try harder than me, as prideful as that may be. I want to set the benchmark for perfection in mediocrity, and I don't like it when anyone tries to trample on my A efforts in order to get an A++ (just in case you didn't know, there aren't such things in college). Anyway, that rant is over.

Around the world in a matter of seconds

2009-02-19T19:45:00.000-08:00

I can't believe the interesting experiences I'm able to have every day. Today, those experiences came in the form of a cross-continent conversation I had with my cousin in Norway; it really is so remarkable that I can stay in contact with so many people. I don't know how it happens, but I have managed to accrue friends in places around the US, Europe, and Asia, and I've managed to maintain pretty good contact with these people after years of not seeing most of them. The amazing web of technology makes my friends in Spain and Florida only a mouseclick away, as I find ways to employ my infamous blog stalking to stay informed on others' lives.
In planning a trip to Europe this summer, I've managed to round up all of my friends across the pond and ask them if they'd be willing to let me stay and see their country from the perspective of one who lives there. Right now I have plans to go to Spain, Norway, and France, but I'm trying to round up any other continental European folks who would be willing to put me up. This European adventure will definitely turn out to be a lot different than the last one; this time I won't be so much a tourist as an observer. I'll be staying with people who know the cities, and I'll be able to see their day-to-day adventures in places that are only slightly familiar to me. It should be fun!

This is the family I met in Barcelona. I'm so excited to see them again in July!

Why Does Everyone Think Valentine's is a Sad Day?

2009-02-14T19:04:00.000-08:00

I just don't get it. Hearts and flowers should make people smile, but instead I see people who are bitter. I don't think that the absence of flowers and hearts would make winter any less miserable, so I'm one who sucks it up and enjoys Valentine's Day as an excuse to give gifts, dress up cute, or any other activity that needs excusing. I also don't think that companionship is necessary for this day intended to celebrate a Christian martyr. Singleness can be celebrated just as openly and wonderfully as marriage! I intend to live this day as if there is nothing I would rather do than to expand my mind, feed my soul, and LIVE.
This week I accomplished many tasks set before me. I did not have a planned schedule with designated time for all my necessary activities, but I still found time to do everything I needed. Most of all, I realized that there are truly people in this world on whom I can rely, and for whose help I am indeed grateful. One of my professors wrote me not one, but two letters of recommendation in a 48-hour crunch, and it is her willingness to be my mentor that is helping me on my way to an exciting thesis project and an adventure to London. Right now my life is really better than I could possibly imagine! This perfect week was enhanced with poetry readings, chats with professors, haircuts, and baking four dozen thin mint cookies. Needless to say, I feel completely at peace right now.
Is it pathetic to admit to liking school so much? I don't know if everyone reading this already knows that I'm a huge nerd, but I have just verified it with the previous sentence. I can't believe that I get to go to school every day to learn and discuss new ideas and perspectives for looking at the world. I can't believe that I am surrounded by such brilliant people who not only love what they're doing, but who also push me to love what I'm doing. There is no way I would be who I am today without the guidance of some amazing people, and one simple statement: "You should change your major to English." Those seven words have had more of an impact on the Emily sitting here writing these words than any other words I have ever heard spoken to me. Someday I will be able to fully express my gratitude for those who have brought me to this point, but for now, those many words will go unspoken.
This post has turned out to be an assortment of rambling thoughts that spilled from my brain and onto this computer. I hope that someone can make sense of it all. Just know this: I am happy, I am exuberant, and I'm a nerd.