Wherein I prove what a total and complete girl I am...

So I'm usually a total music snob. It's bad. That, combined with the skinny jeans, are exactly why Platt calls me an abbreviated hipster. But I've shown before that I have a weakness for cheesy boyband music (coughOneDirectioncough) and herein I will once again prove that I'm really not as cool as I pretend to be.

I love Taylor Swift. And before you start, her music is so not country. It's pop. And I love it. What I really love are the lyrics. They're so...girl power. AND she has an uncanny ability to describe exactly how I feel about all sorts of things. I've listened to her new CD roughly 8000 times since it came out (and it's not more because One Direction put out a new CD just after her, so I had to listen to that long enough to memorize every single lyric and figure out which one of the guys was singing which part. Did I just loose all my cool points? I just don't even care).

Anyway. The whole point of this is to tell you that I found a new life motto. In a Taylor Swift song. Next thing you know, I'll be buying Teen Bop magazine and chewing bubble gum all the time. Oh, you want me to quit editorializing and just tell you what it is? FINE. Impatient much?

"I just think you should know that nothing safe is worth the drive."

 What you don't know about me is that I'm great at pretending that I'm brave and super positive, but when it really comes down to it? I'm a chicken. 100% coward. I don't like to wait for anything and I'd rather stay comfortable than go out on a limb for anything. But lately something is different. And I'm totally okay with it.

So yes. My new life motto might come from a cheesy Taylor Swift song, but you know what? It could have been worse. At least it wasn't a One Direction song.

You may now take away my hipster card...oh wait, we never got them. Decided they were too mainstream.

[Insert Mildly Interesting Title Here]

Do you ever feel like you're just riding along in life and all the sudden the chain falls off your proverbial bike? You're sailing down the street and something just isn't clicking right, you look down and the chain is sagging to one side and there's grease all over your favorite pair of pants. That's been the last couple of days around these parts. (And no, for any Smug Marrieds* [Bridget Jones? Anyone? Blast.] or Smug I'm-in-a-relationship-thank-you-very-muches* that are reading this, it has nothing to do with Valentine's Day. I had a blast last night with my wonderful friends eating way too much fantastic food and reenacting Awkward Family Photos. Pictures to come, I'm sure). It's mostly that all my jokes seem to have gone completely stale and my timing is off on simply everything. I'm talkin' crickets here, people. I'm waiting for the tomatoes and assorted fruits to come next. I can't seem to react properly to anything. I either overreact, under-react, or do something that's so far outside the realm of normal that people stare at me with their heads tilted to one side and that nervous stare they give the mentally unstable. You know exactly what I'm talking about: the one where you can read the fight or flight instinct flashing through their eyes. "Do I run or can I fight the crazy off? What weapons do I have that might be useful against this insane half human half genetic disaster?" 

See. I knew you knew what I meant. 

*This was in no way a dig at my married friends. It's a term Bridget Jones uses to describe people who think they're better than you are just because their relationship status has changed. I'm lucky enough to be friends with lovely people, but these are the interwebs after all and you never know who's going to read your musings. 

By way of an update....

I am currently ignoring a huge pile of laundry. Clean laundry, mind you. I love clean laundry. It's sitting in a massive pile next to me on my recently vacuumed floor while I half pay attention to the first season of Castle (which I'm watching for the millionth time) while I casually eat Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia FroYo. And yes, I am picking out the chocolate fudge flakes. What is that look for? If you know me at all, you know that I always pick the chocolate chunks out of any ice cream (fine fine fine, froyo) that I eat. Where am I going with this? To be perfectly honest, no where. As I sit in my mostly clean bedroom, surrounded by lovely clean clothes, I have come to the realization that I'm pretty darn content with my life. When it comes down to it, who am I to complain? Sure, I could give you a long list of the things that aren't great in my life (please reference the opening lines of "Holding Out for a Hero" and take a gander at these pictures for two things that are pretty darn close to the top of the list). But why, may I ask, should I waste time being unhappy about things I have no control over? Remember the Roald Dahl book "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory"? Sidebar: Before you say anything, yes, I am totally pulling this from this talk, but whether you're Mormon or not, the concept completely applies to you, so don't stop reading. Remember how Willy Wonka, the crazy, slightly unhinged candy maker, hides five golden tickets in some of his candy bars and then announces to the world that whomever finds these special tickets wins not only a private tour of his factory, but a lifetime supply of chocolate? Written on each ticket is an identical message: "Greetings to you, the lucky finder of this Golden Ticket! Tremendous things are in store for you! Many wonderful surprises will delight, astonish and perplex you." In the book, (in the off chance that you haven't read it [shame on you] or seen either of the movies) people all over the world become obsessed with finding the Golden Tickets, buying up all the Wonka chocolate they can find, placing their future happiness on a game of chance. When the ticket is not to be found in their particular candy bar, the joy of the treat (and trust me, there is definitely joy in chocolate) is completely lost. The candy bar itself becomes a complete disappointment without the addition of the Golden Ticket. I think that so often we get fixated on our own "golden tickets" and forget the simple joy of the chocolate. Well, at least I do. There are so many things that I want to accomplish in my life. So many plans and goals. More often than I would like to admit, I get bogged down in how far out of my control some of my plans are that I forget to enjoy the "chocolate"; my friends, my job, my family, the incredible opportunities that I'm given on a regular basis. What, my dear readers, is the point of all this particular ramble? Simple: every now and then stop and enjoy the chocolate. You'll never be sorry that you did.

A disclaimer and an epiphany...

I'm going to start with a disclaimer. I know. It's un-ladylike, but I'm only ladylike when wearing a skirt and sometimes not even then, (as was clearly demonstrate the amazing climbing routine I performed at work yesterday while wearing a pencil skirt. I was organizing the stock room. Turns out? Getting myself on and off the chair was a little difficult. That'll teach me to wear a skirt to work), and right now I'm in a pair of ratty sweatpants and a t-shirt. (This has become my after-work uniform since I started at the business school. I think that means that I've officially reached the ripe old age of "adult"). Anyway, enough about my wardrobe and back to my disclaimer: I know. I haven't written in over a week. I know. I started a new job and haven't even said word one about it, except for the above mentioned acrobatics. I know. I'm letting you all down. I know that you've been waiting with baited breath to hear about my adventures into the land of the grown-up. But that's not the purpose of this post, I'm sorry to say. I will tell you this: I simply LOVE my job. It's not perfect, but it's perfect for me. I feel productive and happy, though I miss Amanda like crazy. No one at my new job talks about celebrity gossip with me or makes lists of reasons why Bono must be a vampire. I haven't even heard anyone say "totes". It depresses me a little tiny bit. Luckily, I became a big fat hypocrit and got Twitter (Let_sbehonest) so I can keep track of her life. I know. I know. Judge away. I deserve it. I'm judging myself. But we must press onward, dear readers. Onward to the point of this post.

When I was a freshman in college, I went on a truly awful spring break trip to Northern California. I don't blame the great state of California for this horrific vacation. No, I blame the "friends" with whom I went on this so-called "fun" road trip. I'll sum it up by telling you this: there are very few moments in my life where I literally wished that I could evaporate from the planet, leaving no trace of my former self and every single one of them happened on this trip. It was brutal. I remember chatting with a family friend about how absolutely painful this experience had been and she told me something that completely stuck with me: "You can never really know that you're ready to be attached to someone else forever until you're comfortable spending a Friday night or two alone." At the ripe old age of 18, that sounded completely ludicrous to me. Spend Friday night alone? Friday night was for parties with my friends. Late movies. Spontaneous sleepovers. Ice cream runs. Friday night meant no school in the morning which meant doing all sorts of crazy things until insane hours. I persisted in thinking this way until I was about 23. Don't ask my why, but this is when it all finally clicked: yes, I liked my friends. Yes, I enjoyed spending time with them, but in reality? If I wasn't able to spend an evening completely alone with myself how in heaven's name could I expect anyone else to? So I decided then and there that I was going to do it. I was going to hang out with myself more often. But this also presented it's own set of problems. Because, see, balance? Not always my strongest suit. (If you just started singing Aida to yourself, go ahead and add 10,000 cool points to your score card.) Ask anyone who's watched me trip over my own feet. The problem was this: I'm so awesome that I liked spending time with myself more than I liked spending time with most of humanity. (There are exceptions to this. You know exactly who you are. And if I've spent more than 15 minutes talking to you, you're one of the exceptions.) And  now, you see, I'm so comfortable on my own that I don't really feel the need to go out and do a ton of socializing. It takes me all day to gear myself up for it. Believe it or not, it takes work to be the charming, bubbly and sassy self that y'all love so much. What this all really comes down to is that I'm admitting here and now that I'm a fake. A total fraud. I pretend to be this super outgoing person, but in reality? I'd rather be at home with a book and a wine glass full of Diet Coke. Yes. I drink Diet Coke out of a wine glass. It makes me feel fancy. In any case, I'm putting all this up here because I'm really trying to be more social-like. I swear on my books that I am. Yup, I really went there. That's how you know that I'm 110% serious.

"I hold on to worry, so tight. It's safe in here right next to my heart."

 "I never want to worry again. It's exhausting and draining. It's counterproductive. It's poisonous and toxic. And I can't do it anymore. Obviously, there will always be stressful things, and you have to react to stressful situations, but you don't have to turn those scenarios over and over again in your head to the point where you truly believe any possible outcome will be the worst thing to ever happen in the history of the world. Obviously I'm exaggerating a little, but just a little." --Jasmine from An Experiment in Poverty

Can we be honest for just a minute? No judging eyes, deal? Okay, here goes: I worry. A lot. I've written about it before. I worry about all sorts of things from the ridiculous (falling down a set of stairs) to the rational (finding a full time job). Sometimes worry is a good thing. It can motivate me to get up out of my green chair and stop watching Spooks to clean my house or go grocery shopping or apply for jobs. Worry can motivate me to take my car into the shop when it makes that weird noise when I push on the gas pedal. Worry means that I don't eat cheeseburgers, ice cream or drink regular milk. It means that I keep all my doors locked at night and leave a light on when I leave the house at night. 

See. A particular kind of worry can be a good thing. 

The kind of worry that I've had going on lately hasn't exactly been the good kind. It's been the keep yourself-up-at-night-chewing-off-your-fingernails-give-yourself-a-massive-headache kind of worry. Unfortunately, that's my worry of choice. It's something that I've done since I was a little kid. I guess you could say that I'm wound a little...er, tight, I suppose (if that's a surprise to you, you don't know me at all). I won't lie to you. As exciting as college graduation was (and it was), it has me wound all sorts of tight. I'm now going to vent right here, right now the things (ridiculous to rational) that I'm worried about:

-Finding a job that I actually enjoy that's right for me.

-Paying off my student loans.

-Finding a place to live when I move out of my grandma's house.

-That I'm not doing all of the things that I should to be a good person.

- That I'll never find anything useful to do with my degree.

-I'll never get married because I'm too scared to talk to new people.

-I'm not a good enough example to my siblings.

-I'll never be able to make things right with my brother, no matter how hard I try.

(Now imagine me dusting off my hands)

Alright. That's over with now. I'm taking a deep breath and from here on out, I'm going to do my best not to worry. Just like Jasmine says, it's counterproductive. So this is me letting go of some of that ridiculous worry, blog world. When there's nothing that I can do to change a situation, there's no point in worrying. I am, here and now, making the conscious decision to worry less and enjoy life more. 

Join me, won't you?

"Although how can you know who you are till you know what you want?"

I've never been a champion decision maker. Ask anyone who knows me well. I don't like picking movies, restaurants, clothes, music, or what to do on a Friday night. You name it. It's not usually a problem of not knowing what I want; it's a problem of being the classic people pleaser. I just want everyone to be happy, even if it means that I'm not always happy. This doesn't mean that I never make choices. I do; all the time. For example, just this morning I decided to wear my khakis instead of my gray dress pants. See? I can make decisions. You can clap for me now.

I just don't like making the life-altering-move-half-way-across-the-country-decisions. 

Just for the record, I did get into Teach for America. 

Hold your shouts of jubilation for a moment because I turned the job down. 

Don't yell at me!!

It wasn't an easy choice. Especially for a girl who hates making huge decisions. Here's the thing, people: the closer it came to finding out whether I had been accepted or not, the more that I hoped and prayed that I had been rejected. This is not a normal reaction when one has the chance at their "dream" job. I was a little ill about the whole thing. Me being me, I just figured that it was the stress of waiting (I've never been known to be a patient person) and that I'd feel better about it when I knew if I got in or not. About a week ago, I was chatting with one of my favorite chatting buddies, Sara (also know as my own personal Theatre Fairy) and I came to a realization: I applied for TFA because I felt like that was the only option I had as far as a full-time, fulfilling job goes upon my graduation from the U. I loved Salt Lake and didn't really want to move away. I have a life here. Friends. A schedule. I didn't WANT to leave. That very night I prayed harder than I ever had that TFA wouldn't accept me. Especially now that I had decided what I thought I wanted to do. In the next 4 days, two amazing potential job opportunities opened up. Things that I was interested in pursuing. 

Then the day came. The dreaded day of April 4th. The day TFA was going to reject me. I was so sure that I wouldn't get in because I'd already made my decision. Learning process over, right? 

Wrong, my dear readers. Wrong.

 When I opened that acceptance letter, I bawled my lovely blue eyes out. 

I realized that was probably a bad sign.

A huge part of the bawling had to do with the fact that I now had to make a huge, potentially life changing decision. I hate life changing decisions. There's just SO much pressure involved in making them. And pressure gives me migraines. I soon realized, though, that this was not something that I could hide from or push off onto someone else's plate. It was time for me to make my own choice and to determine exactly what I wanted.
Armed with the essentials: a Diet Coke, my cell phone (to call my mom, Aubrie or Sara the Theatre Fairy, all of whom help me make huge decisions) my scriptures, and a whole lot of tissues, I set out to do it.  

I was determined to make a choice based on what was best for me, even though I despise making choices like this one. It reminds me of one of the songs from Into the Woods, where Cinderella is talking about standing on the steps of the palace and how she doesn't want to make the choice about the prince so she chooses not to decide. That's usually  how I roll. Let the circumstances make the decision for me. But not this time. Because just like Cinderella says, "How can you know who you are till you know what you want?" (See! Everything you need to know in life can be learned from a musical.)

And I have decided what I want. 

I want to stay in Salt Lake, close to my family, in a city that I love, with friends that I adore because to be honest: I am happy here. 

Why fix something that's not broken?

So. Whether you think I'm crazy or I'm sane doesn't matter because I made the decision for myself. 

"If you want to be happy, BE." Leo Tolstoy

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about being happy. You see, I used to rely on things around me to make me happy; those things varied depending on where I was at in my life. As a missionary, I often hung my happiness on the choices of the people that I spent a great deal of time and energy teaching or whether or not I had a letter waiting for me in the mailbox or my companions' reactions to a myriad of different things. At various times my ability to be 'happy' has depended on attention which might or might have not been given by a certain young gentleman. When I really sit down and think about it, all of that seems so...ridiculous. Immature. Self centered. (Do I need to go on?) How rude (Stephanie Tanner flashback, anyone?) of me to put that kind of pressure on another person when, in reality, I have almost complete control over how I react to the circumstances I'm faced with in my life.

  Today I was talking to a fantastic friend who made an inspired comment. She said that people often remain in certain situations because they feel it gives them license to complain about how crappy and unfair their life is, but in reality, their complaining is what makes life so undesirable. It was as if she had finally verbalized a feeling that had long been driving me to make some big changes in my own little corner of the world. For a while there, I wasn't very happy. Just ask my mom. Or my sisters. By choosing not to take control of those things that were in my sphere of influence, I played the victim, seeking validation in my unhappiness. By continuing to complain about anything and everything I was inviting negativity into my life and pushing away my normally cheerful and sunny nature. For the longest time I felt discontented by my circumstances, telling myself that I'll be happy when: 

I have a boyfriend. 

 I have my PhD. 

I'm not living in Utah anymore. 

I have time to hang out with my family more often. 

I have kids. 

I can travel.

I have money to shop at all of my favorite, but oh so expensive clothing stores. 

I'm skinnier.

Someone thinks I'm beautiful.

The list could go on for miles and miles. If one really tries, it's easy to put off happiness because, honestly, sometimes it's just simpler to remain stuck. It takes much less energy to keep up the status quo than it does to make a change in your attitude, but the reality is this: staying in the same position and expecting things around you to miraculously change is perilously close to the definition of insanity. You not only deprive yourself of all that time you could have spent being happy, you pull everyone else around you down into a swirling vortex of misery and unhappiness. 

Now. Please don't mistake me: I completely understand that there are some individuals who do not have the power, because of various chemical imbalances or other circumstances, to make this kind of change on their own. There's no shame in requiring extra help. Why do you think God invented medicine? Better living can be achieved through the odious branch of chemistry. (I say odious because I'm terrible at it. Don't believe me? My little sister currently has the same chemistry teacher that I did in high school. He still remembers how bad I was and has told her multiple times.) 

I can only speak from my own limited experience, and what I am saying is that happiness is a choice, not something that just suddenly happens. It's worth working towards, worth the energy it takes to change our thought processes. How sad if we waste our time because self pity and self deprecation appeal to our need for attention or our lazy nature. Honestly, the only reason I got up on my soap box about this is because deciding that I was going to be happy has changed my outlook on just about everything I deal with on a regular basis. Knowing that in a world where little is controllable, I have the ability to change something so great, something so fundamental, something so central to who I am, has made all the difference. 

Menace to Society...

So. Last night I went home to good old PG for dinner because, during the school year, I don't really see my family all that often. I mean, sure, they only live forty-five minutes away, but I work on afternoon/evenings on Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. Friday is insert current nerd obsession here night with Megan and during the fall Saturday = football. Because of church stuff my Monday nights are also gone. Anyway, you get the picture. Since I got off work a little early last night due to a massive headache (apparently I looked like I was on drugs...at least according to my student) I decided to pop a couple of Excedrine and drive myself on down there. While eating dinner with my family the subject of my glaringly single status came up. I, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the topic, made some joke about being past all hope of getting married. I mean, come on. I'm 25 (Please note the HEAVY sarcasm) and I managed to live in Provo for 3 years without becoming eternally attached to anyone. That, my dears, is a feat of sideshow proportions. Lucky for me, I made a couple of jokes at my own expense and then the subject was dropped. I didn't really think too much about it again until I read a blog this morning where a newly married girl of 22 began to whine about how she was turning 23 soon and what is a 23 year old to do?! Apparently, according to her, when you're 23 you're supposed to have babies.
Lots of them.
I began to laugh to myself.
 At 23, I was: 
managing an apartment complex, taking 14 credits at school, going dancing with my roommates on the weekend, helping Chels plan her wedding, buying clothes all too often and staying up all night watching movies.
Please do not read this as a bitter diatribe of a single girl who, in Mormon culture, has reached the level of spinster. It's not. Trust me. I could give you one, but I'm not bitter so it would mostly be about stupid people and the dumb things they say to me. (My new favorite, said by a girl in my ward is perpetually unhappy about life: "Have you ever even BEEN in a relationship?" Is there something odious about me that would send of vibes that I've never been in a relationship? Honestly!)
The more I thought about that particular blog post, the happier I became with my current life situation. Don't get me wrong, if Captain Kirk were to come along and sweep into the Enterprise to fly off in the glow of a supernova (silly, they don't have sunsets in space),
you wouldn't hear a word of complaint from this girl. 
But as that has not happened, I simply refuse to waste my time.
I'm not going to pretend that I don't have crappy days where I listen to sappy music and cry a little wondering what's wrong with me. I do (though I don't really care for crying. It tends to give me a headache), but it's a lamesauce waste of my precious, valuable and freaking awesome time to freak like that on a regular basis.
So behold, a list of things that I will accomplish in my life:

-Eat a bagel on the lower east side of New York City
-Stand at the top of the Eiffel Tower
-Read Pride and Prejudice while walking through the English countryside
-See a Broadway show
-Graduate from college
-Take the GRE
-Get a master's degree
-Make a quilt all by my lonesome without having to bother my mother to help me
-Get another paper published
-Milk a cow
-Ride in a hot air balloon
-Swim in the Pacific Ocean off the coast of Hawaii
That's all I'm willing to share currently, lest you steal all of my ideas and do them before I can. 

If you didn't believe that I was crazy before, here's proof...

I absolutely love to clean. I know. I have a disorder. My mom is a special ed teacher. She diagnosed me ages ago. I've been called everything from crazy to OCD. But it's part of my charm. I wouldn't be me if I didn't obsessively clean everything. And organize. And color coordinate my closet. And my shoes. (Do you get the idea?) But I've come to learn that all chores are not created equal. Only a true clean freak knows this. Most people dislike vacuuming as much as they dislike cleaning the toilet. 

Remember how I think dusting is a waste of time? Because it is. 

As much as I love to clean, by far and away, my most favorite chore to do is laundry. There's something soothing about sorting, folding and putting my clothes away. I usually put on a movie (today I did a John Hughes marathon. I needed a little Some Kind of Wonderful and Pretty in Pink in my life) and fold to my heart's content. I usually save my laundry for when I've had a bad day because it puts me in an excellent mood. Today, I was already having a fantastic day. Indulge me while I tell you about it:

-I was early to work

-Rain anyone?

-Actual work to do in the office

-Football season is upon us!
-Finally getting to talk to my friend Jourdan who has been in Europe all summer, who is also coming home in less than a week!

-Lunch with my darlingly pregnant Whitney (who honestly is one of the cutest pregnant girls that I've ever seen. And I'm not biased.)

-A little more rain

-Laundry

-John Hughes

-Dinner with Liz at CKP

-Diet Coke with Lime

-Book shopping with Liz and Barnes and Noble (I bought Macbeth and Tale of Two Cities)

-2 days until Shakespeare Festival and the delight that is Macbeth

See what I mean? How could anyone have a bad day after all that? And laundry just made it that much better. 

Life is good.

The Brilliance of Winston...

(First and foremost: Thank you, dears, for your delightful input on my hair. You're all fantastic.)

"To every man there comes in his lifetime that special moment when he is figuratively tapped on the shoulder and offered a chance to do a very special thing, unique to him and fitted to his talents, what a tragedy if that moment finds him unprepared or unqualified for that which would be his finest hour." 

— Winston Churchill

Thank you, Mr. Churchill for my new life motto. I always knew that you were brilliant. 

Sometimes I Wonder About My Own Sanity...

Do you remember that completely old school computer game of Minesweeper? Yeah, you just made me feel old. For those of you youngins, minesweeper was what kept us old folk entertained before Facebook and Twitter. That, along with solitaire and Oregon Trail, occupied a significant amount of my time growing up. 

 It's a game of logic. Basically, you have a grid on which a certain number of 'mines' are placed. Your job is to find them and flag them. If you don't, and you make the mistake of clicking on them  it 'destroys' the board and YOU DIE. It's very bad and death like. It can be quite a tedious game at times, but throughly addicting. 

Not completely connected but exceedingly relevant to this post is the fact that I have struggled for a good deal of my life with anxiety. As an adult I have better control over it than I did as a teenager, but it often gets the better of me. It stems from the fact that I am a quintessential perfectionist. (Seriously, I'm a freak.)  I become irrationally upset about small things. I stay up all night worrying about situations and relationships that I can't change. I stop eating when I'm overwhelmed. I burst into tears with the slightest provocation. Basically, 

I become a completely unreasonable mess.

(I pity the poor man who marries me. Talk about mood swings.)

As of late, my life has turned into one huge game of minesweeper. I feel as though I'm picking through a mess; wondering where I'm to find my next mine which will lead things to be bad and death like. It's the worst at work. I'm blindly clicking along, trying to flag the mines before they explode in my face, but more often then not I miss one. And that's the difficult part:

I never did like it when the whole board blew up.

And more often then not, the whole board blows up faster than I can handle. Whether or not the explosion is actually the result of a bad click or missed flag on my part, I still feel responsible. The tedious nature of the 'game' brings me to the brink of insanity. 

And I don't particularly look good at the brink of insanity. 

See?

"Living is exhausting."

Rory Gilmore said it best. Living is exhausting. 

(Meg darling. Don't judge. I know you don't love that show, but I do.) 

And the last few weeks have been particularly tiring for so many reasons; most of which I am unwilling to discuss in detail in a public place because it's just awkward when people are WAY too personal. (Like when I hear people talking loudly about their medical problems when I'm on Trax on my way to work. I usually just turn the Biebs up a little louder to drown them out.) 

Today I was feeling particularly down. My boss was driving me nuts. My car was making a funny noise (again). It's hot. I could keep going, but honestly, it won't do any good at all. 

 Anyway,

there was a moratorium on the parking lot at work because we had an all day event; so instead of having to get up super early in the morning and ride the stinky train, I drove my little rust bucket to work this morning. This means that I actually get to leave campus for my hour lunch break. It's a novel idea. 

When that magical hour rolled around, I decided that in light of my crazy morning I deserved a little Rumbi in my life. For those of you who aren't familiar with Rumbi, I'm sorry for you. Go, grasshoppers, find out what it is. Thank me later.

So I'm in line at Rumbi and there are two very VERY large, exceedingly slow humans in front of me in line. Ordering a whole lot of food. 

From around one of the large people I see this tiny little hand go up in the air and a sweet little voice say, "Miss! I can help you over here!"

Walking around the other customers I come face to face with a a girl about my height, who smiles brightly at me and asks for my order. She was just so dang cheerful! I couldn't help but smile back at her and let her happiness rub off on me just a little. And then she told me about a frequent diner card. If you didn't already know this, I collect those. They're amazing. So she gave me two stamps, and very sincerely wished me a great day.  

Normally, I wouldn't think too much about this interaction except, "Dang, that girl deserved a raise. What a sweetheart." But today, my dear friends, today this meant something a little extra. 

Don't you just love those moments?

A quarter of a century of learnin'...

Last night, after my most fabulous gLee party (yes, I wore a tiara. And yes, if you must know, 2 very nice Musketeers came to sing me happy birthday since the show is still going on at the Hale. Does my life make you jealous? It should. Because one of them was devastatingly good looking, even in a wig) one of my insightful and wonderful friends asked me an interesting question. She wondered, now that a year of my life has passed, what I had learned. I made a few jokes about silly things, but spent the rest of the night pondering on her question. In reality, there's a lot that I've learned in the past year, but I realized that at the ripe ole age of 25, there's a lot that I've learned in life (read the last part of that particular sentence with HEAVY sarcasm. 25 is far from old). Anyway, here are a few things (25 to be exact) that I'd go back and tell myself, if I could:

25) Running through the sprinklers in your underwear is the only way to go when you're 2.

24) Peanut butter sandwiches and chocolate milk are gifts from heaven. Especially with your mom's homemade strawberry jam. That and the lilac bush 'playhouse' at the Denver Street house are the perfect combination for an excellent summer afternoon tea party.

23) Dressing your little brothers up in tutus and making them perform the ballet moves you taught them is COMPLETELY worth the blackmail material, even through all of the death threats.

22) Taking your little sisters with you isn't as bad as it seems. Eventually they'll be your best friends and you'll be begging them to hang out with you.

21) A copy of Anne of Green Gables and a rainy day never get old.

20) Telling your siblings there is no Santa Clause is cruel and will most definitely result in your parents playing a trick on you, causing you to doubt your own wisdom.

19) Snuggling a newborn baby is one of the best feelings on the planet.

18) An empty lot offers endless possibilities for an imaginative 11 year old and her brothers.

17)  Mom is always right. I know you think you are, but trust me, somewhere between the braces and your first car, you'll figure this out and be grateful for all that time she took to offer her advice.

18) 98% of the time, your dad is joking. Don't take him seriously.

17) Get used to wanting expensive clothes. That desire is not going away any time soon. It's called budget.

16) The fact that you're not sixteen for sophomore prom is not the end of the world. When you look back on it, you'll be grateful that Daddy didn't let you go.

15) Car dancing is a must. At all times. In all things. In all places.

14) Answer the pepperoni.

13) Following a prompting is never a waste of time, even if you don't see why it's important for years.

12) You will never be sorry that you served a mission. Ever.

11) When your heart gets broken, big time, it's okay to be upset for a little while, but be sure you move on. Holding on to a grudge never helps anyone.

10) No matter how hard you try, you'll never be a BYU fan. Just embrace your Ute pride and don't try to be something you're clearly not.

9) Confidence and pride are not the same thing.

8) Growing up has different milestones for everyone. Don't measure yourself against anyone else, it'll only cause you stress.

7) Math is evil. It poisons minds.

6) Being unique is essential. Do the best you can to be as true to yourself as possible. Always.

5) Never allow anyone else to define who you are.

4) Don't read Twilight. It's like cotton candy: pure spun sugar that rots your teeth out of your head. It's dangerous to your health.

3) There's a difference between sarcasm and wit. Learn it quickly.

2) When you feel like no one loves you, go to 4th grade.

and last but not least:

1) No matter how old you get, it's okay to watch the Disney channel. Always embrace your inner child.

This Ruined Puzzle...

I guess ruined isn't really the right word to use. It's just the title of a Dashboard Confessional song that I really like. Anyway, I've always had the theory that life is kind of like a jigsaw puzzle. And by puzzle I don't mean confusing or frustrating. I mean that life is like the actual act of putting together a jigsaw puzzle. 

Go with me on this one. 

When you first open the box, there's just a huge jumble of pieces. You look at the picture on the outside of the box and wonder how all those tiny little cardboard squares will ever form anything beautiful. Slowly but surely you begin to find pieces that fit together well and the puzzle begins to take shape. At first you're on a roll, it's fairly simple to find which edges match others. You get to a point where you have big chunks of the puzzle put together and you're starting to feel accomplished. It doesn't matter that there are still 5,000 pieces to go, you've got this. Every so often you find a piece or two that looks as though they will surely fit in one area or another but no matter how hard you push, the pieces don't seem to gel. That's always a little disappointing and can sometimes damage the corners of said piece. If you're like me, sometimes your little brother comes and steals a piece and you have to chase him around until you find it. Some days the dog eats a piece and it seems to throw everything off. As time goes on, you stop focusing on the pieces themselves and on the picture as a whole.Eventually, you're down to the last few pieces. This is the hardest part. You don't have as many choices, which may make it seem easier, but in reality, it's more difficult. Less choices and less space. The best part, though, is when you're finished. Instead of thousands of tiny cardboard pieces, you have a lovely picture and what's better, you're the one who took the time to put the pieces together. 

I'm goin' for broke, but I've got hope....

(WARNING...THIS IS LONG)


So usually I'm not very personal on  my blog. If something is published on the internet I just don't think it's right to spill my guts for other people to comment on, but if you'll all (all being the like 15 people who actually read this blog) forgive me, I'm going to get a little personal tonight, so if you're not in the mood for that, stop readin' right now. If you don't mind all that much, read on. 


Anyway, all of this leads up to a particular story. And this is where things get a little personal. Before my mission, there was a boy that I was hopelessly smitten with. I thought him to be practically perfect for me. During my mission, he proceeded to write me weekly, talking about the many things that we'd done before I left, things we'd do when I came home and telling  me how wonderful I was. As my mission came to a close, he wrote me one specific letter that hinted about dating when I came home. I was elated.In short, I was in love, which was a first for me. I was certain that the feeling was reciprocated (much like Marianne Dashwood in Sense and Sensibility, which should give you some hint as to the ending of this tale) though neither of us had uttered the exact words just yet. Upon coming home, the boy came to visit me and this particular visit practically cemented my hopes. We dated a little in the following weeks, and things seemed to be going along swimmingly. Then suddenly the rug was pulled out from under me. Everything abruptly and violently changed. He was dating someone else and I was out. After investing so much of myself into this person, I was devastated. The self value that the Lord had painstakingly taught me on my mission was forgotten as I convinced myself that if I wasn't worth his time, I wasn't worth anyone's time. I continued my friendship with him, but it was all very one sided and awkward. I shoved my feelings under the rug, convincing myself that it wasn't that big of a deal and I was perfectly happy.


As time has gone on, I have slowly and very sadly realized that I never dealt with how the situation affected me or the self destructive tendencies I developed as a result of my desire to "get over it" as quickly as possible. It's been just a little under 2 years since all this happened, and while I have gained an understanding of the Atonement in way I never thought possible, there are still parts of who I am that haven't quite bounced back. I don't realize why I make certain decisions (particularly in the area of dating) until someone (usually an excellent and inspired friend) questions my thought process. 


In any case, I had a realization today while listening to the following song:


Sway your head
Move your feet
Wake yourself from the sleep
If there's a day, there's a way
You can get yourself there
Golden smile, you got style
That they can't take away

Scream and shout, get it out
Before it swallows you
No surprise in these times
How it really gets through
All the walks and the thoughts
But can you break through?

You're alive
So alive
Now c'mon

You gotta pull yourself back together
Give it one more shot
It's now or never
With the new day falling for you
You gotta believe
(Woah)

Build a plan, yes you can
You've got nothing to lose
Look around, up and down
What are you gonna choose?
Can you see the sunrise
That came up for you?

You're alive
So alive
Now c'mon

You gotta pull yourself back together
Give it one more shot
It's now or never
With the new day calling for you
You gotta believe

You gotta pull yourself, back in the water
Take in one deep breath
You're getting closer
After all you've talked and seen
You gotta believe
(Woah)

Now I, I feel I'm getting better
Now I, my world is getting better

You gotta pull yourself back together
Give it one more shot
It's now or never
With the new day falling for you
You gotta believe

You gotta pull yourself, back in the water
Take in one deep breath
You're getting closer
After all you've talked and seen
You gotta believe
On my 12th time through the song (I have a high tolerance for repeats), I realized that this song perfectly describes how I feel about that particularly messy heartbreak. I've used it as an excuse to hide, so petrified of feeling that heartache again. And while one realization won't make the trepidation, fear and anxiety go away, I was able to look back and see how I had changed, and to finally come to a new understanding of what I needed to do in my life. So, in short. I'm goin' for broke, but I've got hope. 

Insanity in the form of my life...

So there have been no posts this week for three reasons:

Number 1: Nothing super exciting has happened prompting me to write about it.

Number 2: Time has been in very short supply. School and work are taking over my life.

Number 3: Nothing good for me to rant about has come my way.

So. Here's to hopping that something exciting presents its self pretty soon.

So this must be the thing....

So Aubie and Amy both did this on their blogs, and I thought it was just so darn cute. I just did it on Facebook, but the thing is, I wasn't completely honest about it. I mean, everything I said was true, but there were things that I left out because I don't want everyone on Facebook to read them. So, I'm combining the whole 25 things with something that Aubie did that I thought was so neat. So introducing 25 true things about me.

1. The truth is I have seen the 5 hour version of Pride and Prejudice so many times that I can quote the whole thing, word for word. And I named my teddy bear Mr. Darcy.
2. The truth is that because I'm 23 and not married and not dating anyone, I sometimes feel like I'm a social outcast.
3. The truth is that if I could pick somewhere to live, it would be as far away from Provo as I could get.
4. The truth is I really like dressing up for no reason.
5. The truth is I LOVE wearing bright red lipstick. It makes me feel pretty.
6. The truth is that even though once I'm on the phone I'm okay, I really hate being the one to call and interrupt someone else's day.
7. The truth is I have a 'annoying complex' i.e. I'm always worried about annoying everyone around me and feel as though I do most of the time.
8. The truth is I count calories and fat to the point of almost being obsessive. Except when I eat at my parent's house or at Aubrie and Corey's.
9. The truth is I check my phone obsessively AND if I'm waiting for someone to call sometimes I'll turn my phone on silent so that I won't be waiting to hear it ring.
10. The truth is I am a HUGE perfectionist.
11. The truth is I color coordinate my closet. (See #10 for explanation.)
12. The truth is I love roses.
13. The truth is that I absolutely love really, really big earrings.
14. The truth is that sometimes I color coordinate my pajamas. (Again, see #10 for explanation.)
15. The truth is sometimes I think about my life as a movie, complete with a killer soundtrack, and really really good clothes.
16. The truth is I really wish I sang well, but I'm okay with the fact that I only kind of play the piano.
17. The truth is when my friend Kat was having a bad day, I once took her to try on wedding rings. Just for kicks.
18. The truth is I'm kinda afraid that I'll never get married.
19. The truth is that I can't sleep until my room is clean. Once my roommate Mindy threw a blanket over a mess so that I would go to bed and not continue cleaning.
20. The truth is I wish that I had a British accent.
21. The truth is I hate Celine Dion.
22. The truth is the 2 best compliments that I've ever had came from boys who had no idea how much they meant to me.
23. The truth is I love school.
24. The truth is if i could spend entire days and weeks reading, I'd do it without hesitation.
25. The truth is I still read my scriptures in Spanish because a little part of me thinks that they're more true in Spanish than in English even though I know they're not.

Who is the world's biggest blogging slacker ever?

Yes, yes I know. That would be me. I know that you all check my blog EVERY DAY waiting for updates and are just crushed when there aren't any, it's okay, I realize that I'm just that cool of a person, you don't have to remind me. I was going to put up a few pictures of my roommates and I, but unfortunately I can't find Chels' camera, so you'll all just have to wait. Stuck in complete anticipation... it's a good thing I live my life, because I'm not a patient person and I'd hate to be like all of you, stuck waiting around to hear about it! :)

Mal in Real Life...

Today I'm tired of real life. I want to escape. To go and hide somewhere away from all the stress and worry that I create. The last few days things have been...difficult, to say the least. Mostly with things that I can't/don't want to talk about with anyone, because it's just that kind of stuff. The things that we must deal with as part of this life. It's strange because as a missionary you just don't. You push everything like that to the side, telling yourself that you'll deal with it when the time comes. But what about when it comes? How do you deal with it then? You can't push it aside, there's no where to push. Sometimes I feel the little voice in my head saying, "Hermana, you're home" and well, to be honest, sometimes I don't really like it very much. I do realize that most of you will read this and in your head you'll say, "Get over it. The mission is over., You're home now." Well, I ask each of you to think, for just a second as that thought comes that it's kind of mean, and to be sympathetic, just for a bit longer. Sometimes I'd like to be a little kid again, you know the stage everyone goes through where if you close your eyes you're pretty sure that because you can't see anyone, no one can see you? That would be nice.