"Hold On, It Gets Better Than You Know"

Things I Learned This Weekend:

1. Stroking the dashboard doesn't always get the car to start.

2. A $20 gift certificate to Barnes and Noble probably won't cover the price of one of their DVDs. Not even Mulan II with 20% off. And that movie hurts me that it even exists.

3. I should definitely live alone.

4. Sunglasses with blue tint look hot on me.

5. More people believe in my theory of jumping than I previously realized. I should've definitely copyrighted it. Then I could've made millions on royalties and spoiled you all.

6. Evading the police is a lot like playing a video game. Except it's real life and there's no pause button.

7. Nine West shoes always get the compliments. Especially with a bit of D.C. mud on the heel.

8. We all have our leeches. We smile and indulge them, but we have secret leech-bashing parties. If you're never invited to these parties, you might want to take a look around. You could be the leech.

9. Apparently even psychic abilities won't help you guess more than 11 of the 24 Oscar categories correctly.

10. I can't write a Birthday Wish List. I do wish, though, for an excuse to wear my favorite pants again and some Panda Express in a park.

"A Need To Feel, A Need To Try"

"She also said, Jump. Seriously. It's okay and it's always worth it, even if you end up crinkled and broken on the ground. Because when it's over, how better then you can hold me when it's my turn to lie, bloody and spent, in your arms. How better then can you sing your children to sleep and wipe away your friends' tears and watch the dawn light sparking through tree branches. Not feeling is enviable only by those who have always felt and felt deeply. "The grass is always greener...." Don't believe it, and don't be afraid. There will be nights when you retreat to your bed, cowardly and shaking to draw about you the comfortless broken pieces of a scattered life and hope. You will tape them together when the alarm sounds in the morning and wear them wearily about you. Most people won't even notice a difference because most people have not learned to see outside themselves. And somehow, that will hurt even more. But every night will not end that way."

I wanted to dig that quote up again. I've always, always advocated jumping; it's how you learn to live, and live well. You see, life isn't about a happy ending. I don't believe in them, actually, and when I'm asked to tell a story, though it might involve a knight and a princess, the happiness in their lives doesn't come from some indistinct, unrealistic bliss-ending that we never really get to see. Happiness comes in fighting off the dragons that come, in fighting them together, and in staying loyal and constant. THAT is living and loving well. Is it not worth a risk then?

What is our fear of pain? I ask myself, What's the worst that can happen? The realistic answer isn't that bad. Pain cuts, and it cuts to the bone sometimes, but you keep going. This phrase, this "you ruined my life"--I don't believe it. As gut-wrenchingly hellish as circumstances can become, they're not irreparable. You don't just cease to exist because someone breaks your heart; no one has that kind of power over you. Not even God Himself can uncreate something.

So then things can always get better. (Just as they can get worse; I haven't forgotten that, but after the worse comes the better.) So what? People might recognize that, but they still back away from jumping. Why is pain so shameful? Raise your hand if you've ever had your heart broken. Go on, raise it. Why hide it? Love turns us all into fools... and I don't see that as a bad thing at ALL. There is nothing more noble or beautiful than giving yourself to someone completely and fully, in holding nothing back to guard yourself against that crash.

The truth is, if it's truly love, you're going to be free-falling and out-of-control. If you had control, you'd be the cold spectator watching someone else plead with you to love him. I've been in control before, watching events transpire. I've actually been in control quite often. Enviable? Not at all. It's about trust, and trusting someone you're unsure of, and giving that person the power to break you into a thousand thousand crystalline shards that some chain-smoking, minimum-wage, unshowered janitor will sweep up into his worn and dirt-streaked dustpan.

Is that not glorious?

"My, What A Chick, Fiery Red With Your First Pick"

I read in Bart's blog that "chicks dig scars." This is certainly true; there is nothing more attractive to me than a guy with a scar and a story. Unless maybe it's a guy with a scar and a story AND a pirate voice. Swoon. Find me that guy, and I'm his. Pirates are so dang hot.

The problem I have with that quote is that it uses the c-word: Chicks. What a demeaning brush-off! And I've certainly NEVER let ANYONE demean me. I respect myself, and I demand that respect from others. Playful banter is okay; I love it, in fact. And even when it gets out of hand, it still makes me laugh. I remember fondly entire conversations I would have with Dan that went something like

Jerk.
Dork.
Loser.
Idiot.
Pinecone head.
Hoser.
Dipwad.

and on and on. I grew up with my dad making fun of me, and it remains one of my favorite ways to express affection. If I threaten to beat you up, I might just really, really like you. I'm stuck in a third-grade mentality.

Calling me a chick, though? That insults my presence and my intelligence. Don't EVER insult my intelligence. I'll hate you for it, and you don't want me as your enemy. Intelligent people know things and can use that knowledge in scary ways.

"Just Cause You Don't Know What Matters Most"

[I'd like to apologize to my readers who don't have the background to understand what follows. I'll be happy to enlighten you at any time.]

Dear "Cecil" President Samuelson,

It has come to my attention that students attending Brigham Young University get no Spring Break. It has come to my attention because this is my second year here (as well as yours), and likewise the second year I've been screwed over by BYU's crazy policies.

I don't know what you think you're doing. You're saying to yourself right now, But they get off in mid-April! No Spring Break is needed! You're an idiot. Not needed? Do you know what's not needed? Education Week, that's what! 30,000 clueless Mormon folk invading the city of Provo for a week in the summer to gain spiritual fatness and hear a lot of false doctrine and "inspiring stories." It's a super-extended Sunday School. Is that really necessary? Just give the people a Michael McLean CD and some book by Richard Paul Evans, maybe accompanied by Mormon Doctrine. I wouldn't be sad to get a nice package like that. I likewise wouldn't be sad if you suddenly announced a few days off in March for hardworking students and the termination of CES Mecca-like projects. And I bet I could collect quite a few signatures on this one. Yet you sit naïvely in your office, probably unaware there's even a problem. How can that be? Oh, that's right--BYU campus doesn't allow protesting. The closest we get to that is the Soapbox festivities on the quad, closely monitored by BYUSA.

Can I point something out about BYUSA? Something you might not have considered. They are so strident and so asinine that normal people hate them and their policies. Doing what is good and right should not cut out all forms of joy and merriment. We should be allowed to joke around. We should be allowed to be sarcastic. We should not be held down by restrictive fascists who do not think slang and God should appear in the same paragraph. What happened to having a close, personal relationship with a higher power? You and your BYUSA cronies have crushed that privilege right out of us.

To get back to the Spring Break issue, I can understand if people want Education Week to continue. Good things must come out of it, at least in some way. Must it happen in Provo, though? Utah is a terrible place; no one should be encouraged to come here EVER. By holding Education Week festivities here, you are exposing people to the brown-scrubbiness of a polluted valley. Have you ever wandered Provo streets at night? Without your entourage, I mean. Do it sometime and take a deep whiff of the lovely-scented nighttime air. Then try not to vomit all over your polished black dress shoes. Provo is foul at night. The rain is brown. The "river" is a stream. The processed hair is abundantly bad enough to kill small children. Please, I beg of you... stop. Send people someplace nice. Someplace that won't interfere with BYU's already-crammed schedule.

I have several ideas for alternatives, if you'd like to contact me. I just want to keep my brain from exploding. And this "we'll give them Monday off and then call Tuesday a Monday" thing is NOT a break. It is sick and wrong is what it is.

Thank you.




This is why I never actually send the e-mails I compose to good ol' Cecil.

"So Close To Perfect"

Just to catch up on some things....

I. Why I love talking to Rachael:

Rach: That could buy you a plane ticket.
Me: It so could.
Rach: Mmm... you want to? Like, seriously?
Rach: We'll run to Canada.
Me: I won't go to that communist country.
Me: Besides, Canada's the first place they'll look.
Rach: Cuba?
Rach: We'll swim.
Me: You just want to have endless sex on the sand with a mutant communist boy.
Rach: Yep, you have me figured out.

Interesting that both her choices should involve communism. And red IS her color. My eyes are narrowed suspiciously in your general direction, Miss Rachael.

II. Why I love being friends with Clayton:

When he finds out I'm ill and probably dying, he goes to Del Taco and brings me too many tacos to eat, plus a bajizillidecahillion Del Scorcho hot sauce packets. It was the nicest end to a bad ish day ever invented. Also, he assures me that drinking the hot sauce is a cure for cancer, which I have. What he doesn't know is that the medical experts (namely, me talking to Jennifer in logic class) have concluding that I'm dying of tuberculosis.

III. Why I love evenings spent at 13:

"The Book of Mormon Movie" on DVD. Need I say more? Brady and Bart selected the best parts for our viewing pleasure.

Also, Charlotte piling the thousands of thousands of Del Scorcho packets into a tower on the carpet.

Also, all the times I laughed til I could not breathe.

Also, the fact that I owe ice cream without having kissed a boy. Though Joe offered to before FHE so I wouldn't have to cough up without the benefits. How thoughtful of him....

And that's what's up. So now you can ask me more creative questions when you greet me, like "How do you like your steak done?" or "What makes the sky blue" or even "How many fingers am I holding up?" I wonder how many ways I can answer that last one sans numbers.

"Hide The Details, I Don't Want To Know A Thing"

I know what music to avoid when I'm in certain moods, so I know how terrible it is to be listening to Fall Out Boy right now, yet I am. And it's on repeat. And I dare any of you to stop me.

Today was interesting. I literally don't know how to feel, and it's completely laughable that some people look to me as the pinnacle of emotional stability. No offense, but either I put on a fantastic act, or you guys really need to get some better friends. I suppose it's always possible that I'm at a low stage right now, and I'm not letting myself think about any time I was ever actually good for someone, but considering that I might actually be necessary and helpful is a little much when I consider how it's thrown in my face.

I'm not crawling back into a corner.

Also, I'd like to say that while ignorance might be bliss, I'd always prefer to know the truth, no matter what that truth is. Chances are I'm not completely ignorant anyway, so I don't even have bliss to coddle me while I'm wading in self-doubt and confusion.

"Mary Belongs To The Words Of A Song"

Let's try an experiment. Let's see how this post turns out, ripped from my feverish mind as it is. If it's better than normal, I'll try to get sick as often as possible to facilitate Great American Novel writing. If it's just loopy and insane, consider it a roller coaster ride of fun and nonsense, and mail me $50 for the privilege. If it's just plain bad, then my paper on Kant has no hope. Not like it did anyway. I was in the library the other day trying to read his, um, musings, and I had my phone at my elbow. Well, someone texted me, and I almost died. When my phone is on vibrate and it's on a solid surface and it goes off, you'd think the horsemen of the apocalypse were riding through, such is the horror. Then I kinda got lost--we won't discuss where my thoughts went off to--and then I spent two hours in my professor's office getting sources on sacred prostitution so I can write a paper. Apparently it's a myth perpetuated by pseudo-historians. Apparently all the crazy literature I've been systematically reading and chucking across the room because it smacked of craziness really IS crazy. Crazy pseudo-historians.

And now after I've written a whole bunch (a fact I only know is true because I can see all the words, not because I have any idea what was just said), please vote. Tell me what you thought.

P.S. Some people might think it's cute while we're watching Spiderman (unhyphenated for you, Sam) 2 to move your hand about in a spidery fashion around my face and on my arm. Some people might like to meet... wait, I actually like you, so nevermind. Just cut it out with the spiders, okay?

"I Held Your Hand Through All Of These Years"

I realize that some things might be better left unsaid, but I'm just foolish enough to say them anyway.

Have you ever agreed to something that seemed so small and insignificant and looked back a while later and laughed and laughed and laughed because you had no idea what you were doing when you said Yes...?

Almost no one who knows me now knows the girl I used to be. And in so many ways I count that as a good thing. I cannot even list all the ways I've changed since I came home from my first year of college. I'm slightly glad I had no idea what was ahead of me. I jumped blindly and gladly into it, like I always advocate. And it all began with a "So I have a friend...." Who could have imagined that I would find someone who fit so perfectly?

Here's to the guy who won me through honesty. We dedicated a Guster song to you. You should listen to it sometime.

Here's to the guy who can always make me feel like a stump, and who does it better than anyone else. I'm not afraid of you, sir, and I refuse to back down. Hope is still an expectation; someday you'll realize that. Like in a thousand years. Don't worry, I'm stubbornly patient.

Here's to the guy who cannot answer a simple question like What do you want? with a simple answer. I'm happy (and I'm NOT rolling my eyes). Are you?

Here's to the guy who gives me a reason to go to North Carolina and to go frequently. Man never fell in love faster or deeper than I have with that state. But it's not the only reason I go. I think state and purpose are interconnected in my mind, which is why I can forgive it for its slow traffic and pink shirts and carpeted malls. And maybe even for Clay Aiken. I'll get back to you on that one.

Here's to the guy who always remembers what color my eyes are. In detail.

Here's to the guy who knows what to do with that silly octopus and who is the only person I'd ever let use it. I wish you could see the way I laugh. It would be good for your soul to hear. Though I wish for it for many more selfish reasons as well.

Here's to the guy I really doubt I'm cool enough to hang around but who seems to welcome my presence anyway. Though I wonder why I have these doubts. There is so much depth to my cool that he hasn't even discovered. But I have a To Do list, and maybe I'll even teach him some whimsy before I'm through.

Here's to the guy who had never heard the word wheedle before he met me. And the guy who taught me what "lummox" means. I hadn't cracked a dictionary in so long.

Here's to the guy who trusts me to be his Plan Leader and a great number of other titles. I haven't forgotten that you were the original Official Decision Maker. I haven't quite figured out how you got out of that one, but I'll attribute it to your wiliness. Speaking of which, I'm saying crafty now just for you.

Here's to the guy who broke my record for latest IM conversation ever. I've seen more sunrises while talking to him than I have with any other person.

Here's to the guy who always manages to bring the rain.

Here's the guy who has more points than anyone. Because he EARNS them. And he keeps earning them. It's your fault anyway for being so frustratingly charming and everything else you are.

Here's to the guy who brought Akhbar into my life. I don't think you know how strange it is to be calling your best friend who's a girl and to have a guy answer the phone. And not just any guy, but a guy with a strange, foreign accent. I figured it out, though, and laughed so incredibly hard.

Here's to the guy with a leather couch and a seat reserved for my return. It's the best couch in the world, I promise you. Maybe because I still remember the night I spent watching you sleep on that couch. Maybe because I never sleep as well as there. I know I keep missing, Ace, but my aim can't be forever bad.

Here's to the guy who needs to become familiar with the story of George and the Dragon. Don't worry, I already have it taken care of.

Here's to the guy who fascinates and amazes me. The best friend I could ever ask for. The person who is behind my quest to save the world. I'm behind your dreams too. I want to see everything you become, because I know it's going to be wonderful.

Note to self, my dear Nicolaus: I miss you terribly.

"Bliss is Far Away, North is Calling"

I don't have time for this, but you know what? Screw you all. I did this a while ago and saved it for an occasion such as this.

Pick your birth month and cross (strike) out what doesn't apply to you.

MARCH:
Attractive personality. Sexy. Affectionate. Shy and reserved. Secretive. Naturally honest, generous and sympathetic. Loves peace and serenity. Sensitive to others. Loves to serve others. Easily angered. Trustworthy. Appreciative and returns kindness. Observant and assesses others. Revengeful. Loves to dream and fantasize. Loves traveling. Loves attention. Hasty decisions in choosing partners. Loves home decors. Musically talented. Loves special things. Moody.

"How Does it Feel to Know You're Everything I Want"

Without googling, name the song. One of my very favorites. Do you know what I hate? I hate when people steal my music. And I don't know what makes that distinction. I can have the same taste in music as someone and be thrilled, but if I connect to a song in a way, and I see that song being prostituted somehow, it drives me crazy and I don't know what to do.

Which is not what I wanted to talk about at all.

But I guess I'll talk about music anyway since it's a good topic. I recently noticed that a very important, very special CD of mine was missing. And to mourn its loss, I brought out another CD which is also missing. So very, very few of you can understand my feelings at the time, just the complete desolation. Music is my life, this music owns my soul, and it was... gone. Fortunately, I told Jenny (who CAN understand), and she at least replaced the Mendelssohn.

I just wish... something would change. Change is good, and I like it. Only people who aren't content want something to change, though. Interesting.

I have this paper to write, but I'm having trouble getting started, which is where you guys come in.

The paper has to be about my favorite toy. Just, don't ask. I'm pretty mad at this assignment, and if I go into detail I'll probably start killing people, and I have a feeling that could have a negative impact on not only me, but on society as a whole as well.

So tell me: What should my favorite toy be? And if you can think of three reasons why it should be my favorite toy, that would be even better.

"For All That It's Worth"

One of the oddest conversations I've had (recently)involved a friend getting mad when I ignored him for a couple minutes to take a phone call from another friend I TOLD to call me. I dunno, I can multitask, but not anything involving the phone anymore. I thought it was all pretty legit, but I guess not.

So to avoid any future skirmishes, allow me to clarify. I have a circle of priorities. The closer you come to the center circle, the higher priority you are, and the more of my attention you get. Usually it's pretty obvious to people where they fit in the circles. Let's look at some different scenarios.

Scenario #1.

You come up to talk to me. I smile and respond eagerly to your questions, posing some of my own. I laugh and we carry on, having a great time. I follow you back to your apartment and start making plans for later tonight.

Scenario #2.

You come up to talk to me. I say hi, we chat, things are friendly. I wish you well in life and promise to come visit sometime.

Scenario #3.

You come up to talk to me. I respond vaguely to your questions and find an excuse to turn away soon. Or maybe not even an excuse, maybe I just forget that you're there.

Scenario #4.

You come up to talk to me. I spot you coming and run outta there. Maybe even getting a shoelace caught on a tent stake and tripping. I feel the need to rename you or assign you a number.

Scenario #5.

You come up to talk to me and someone pops out from nowhere and kills you. This person has been previously assigned to carry out this task.

Now, put these people in order of priority in my life. It's not hard, is it? The problem comes in when people assume things. They assume that I owe them every spare moment of mine because... I don't even know why, really. I'm not even going to pretend to have an answer to this one. I love you guys. I love talking to you guys. I love scheming and baking and singing and hanging with you guys. Just don't pick fights or get defensive when it's revealed that I have other friends. Cause know what? I have other friends.

And you're not my boyfriend.

"This Wait for Destiny Won't Do"

My life now has a purpose.

I will be combing through problematic situations and seeing if a little prepositional change can't fix it. For instance, if I spoke to a boy ABOUT him the way I talk TO him about someone else.

I'd like to tip my hat to Art for this whole thing. There's a big chance I stole everything from him directly, but if he won't blog about it, I will.

"I Got Soul But I'm Not a Soldier"

Mac FINALLY e-mailed me and let me know about the Open Mic Night. I've had The Killers song "All These Things That I've Done" in my head for how many months now? And I'll finally be able to get it out. Unless he decides to do it again, which would actually be okay.

Let me just say that I love live music. I live right down the street from Muse Music, and how often do I ever take advantage of it? Shameful. Really, really shameful. Exquisitely, horrifically, perniciously shameful. Egregiously, preposterously, scandalously, bitterly... okay, stopping. But I'd just like to point out that The Early November performed there last year, and where was I? Not with Nick getting Ace Enders' guitar pick, that's where. I hate myself.

So I'm declaring today New Year's Day, and I'm making a resolution to take advantage of all the live music opportunities I can. Which I'm thinking should also include a trip to hear the Utah Symphony because holy fricative do I miss good, live classical music.

"Or Were You Sent to Save Me?"

So, confession time? I think it's time for that.

I am fiercely independent. Yeah, I love my friends, and I love how they make me laugh and feel good and whatever, but I pride myself on being The Unbreakable. On not needing anyone. On being able to take care of myself, starting with my emotional emancipation from my family and continuing into my withdrawals and silences when dealing with people. I deal with things on my own, THEN I tell others what's up. Like I said, I'm a pridefully independent.

But sometimes, especially when my stomach continues to rip itself to shreds inside my body and I give up all hope of salvation, I let my mind wander off into rosy dreams of letting someone take care of me. I have to admit, it's pretty nice.

And then I realize that there are a lot of people willing to take that position, and I have to shoulder my independence again and push them away. Because that's not their place. Because it never will be their place. Because nothing they could ever do could make it their place. I blame my instinct or my intuition or my "power of discernment" as Sam calls it, but I won't fuel hope when there is none to be had. People might get hurt, but at least there is decency. So if I've given you hope, please hold to it, and if you're mindlessly waiting, please don't.

I stand by my tenets: Loyalty. Decency. Consistency. Trust.

"I Remember a Man Who Was True to Himself"

I was asked to ponder tonight the eternal question of "Who DOES that???" and procure an answer. I could rattle of a couple thousand smart-aleck responses, but I won't. Because I think it not only deserves a reasonable answer just on the asker's merits, but also because, were I to find the answer, it would pretty much fix humanity.

I think I've come to an answer.

Crazy people. Crazy people do that, and each time a distraught person comes up to me posing that question, my response will be, "X does that. X has bees in her head. And the bees are crazy."

"And We'd Never Feel Alone"

Here's a hint. Telling Winamp to search your entire hard drive for music is not ever a good idea.

Not even when you're in a fit of rage.

Not even when the website you're looking on specifically warns against such a thing and it has a bad layout and poor advice that makes you hate it.

Not even when Winamp refuses to rip track 7 (and ONLY track 7) of I Can Make a Mess Like Nobody's Business which happens to be your favorite track and the bitterness you feel is so intense you've almost thrown Winamp (metaphorically) out the window and burst into tears on your bed. Or something like that. That gets the proper feeling across, at least, even if I wouldn't REALLY have cried. Please, people.

Not even when all you want is the sweet, sweet melodies of Bayside forever and ever, amen.

But I didn't have someone to give this advice to me. So I did it.

And now I have them. And a lot of stuff I had forgotten about. And now I'm watching Dan die in the movie he sent me over and over. I wish you could all be here with me, witnessing this.

"It's Friday, I'm thinkin' Life's Goin' My Way"

I talked to my philosophy professor after class today. Just so you get an idea of what he's like, he's pretty young, just an adjunct, and he breezes in lateish every class, wearing some kinda mismatched get-up that you HAVE to love. Today was lavender corduroy pants and a green plaid shirt. And he plays guitar in some local band. He's also single, so no familial or girlfriend responsibilities or anything like that. Picturing it yet? Fabulous.

We talked about the future. Life. Social constraints and how nebulous they really are. He suggested that he could go backpacking through Europe or join the circus-- ANYthing! Which started me thinking...

What would I do? College is great and all, the plans for grad school are forming, the prospect of a job, a career, a future. But nothing is making me take that path. I have no children, no husband, no ties. Would I go to the Mediterranean and study tropical fish? Would I chase storms, tracking data for NOAA? Would I snorkel through the Caribbean? Would I take a pilgrimage to Westminster Abbey and the Poets' Corner? Would I drive up to Walden pond and protest Transcendentalism? Would I start The Coolest Band EVER? The options seem endless, matched by my varying passions.

And yet... here I sit, reading medievel French texts and blocking out a plot for the great American novel. I'll get my B.A., go back East for grad school, and continue to follow the path I only half-realize I'm walking. I already know this.

So why does life still seem so scarily uncertain?

"We Write the Wrong"

I met with my Bible as Literature professor today. We talked paper/project. He's really interested in my ideas and lent me one of his books to read. I'm terrified I'll bend a page or something and he'll fail me. But I got to hang out in his office in the F Smith building, which I should do more often. I saw some books by Elie Wiesel, so maybe I'll nip over another time and wheedle them out of him. And finally stop by Dr. Carter's office. Anyone who relates logic to kissing is worthy of not only my time and my attention, but also my intense adoration.

I've also spoken recently to a lot of people on the subject of various papers. That's what happens when all your friends go to college, they write a lot and complain about it. I probably complain the most, but maybe that's only how it seems to me because I get to witness all the internal complaints on my side, but not on everyone else's side.

Anyway, people like to ask me for advice on their papers. Which is valid, I have experience with the paper writing, and being an English major, it's a specialty of mine. My advice: make as many cool allusions as possible. For instance, my paper on Utilitarianism? I totally talked about Harry Potter in the introduction.

That's right. Harry Potter and Utilitarianism. My next attempt? Jacob from Genesis and The Cheat from www.homestarrunner.com

I can hardly stand myself.

"If that ain't groundhog, I'll be derned"

And now, for the news you've all been waiting in breathless anticipation for (or at least I have; but I'm from Pennsylvania originally, so Punxsutawney [and yes, I know how to spell that without looking it up] is of great import to me)...

Six more weeks of winter, folks.

Were I with my grandfather right now, he would be reciting the pledge to the groundhog in the low German we silly Americans got confused and started calling Dutch. Complete with hand motions. It's really too fabulous, we should all take a field trip and go visit him today in honor of the rodential festivities.

P.S. You should definitely do a search of the lyrics I titled this post with. They're great, and I promise you won't regret it.