How old am I really if I watch PBS News Hour followed by Antiques Roadshow?
If I am a self-proclaimed hater of country music and then buy tickets to see Garth Brooks in concert, does that make me a hypocrite?
What if I hope Bernie Sanders wins the 2016 Democratic nomination so I don't have to choose between Hilary and whatever bottom-dwelling troll the Republican party nominates? Take your pick...
If I cut off all my hair and neglect to post a photo of it on social media, did it really happen? Checks mirror... Yes, it did.
Why are so many of my Facebook friends organizing parties and boutiques to sell me stuff? I feel rude declining so many event/group invitations. Then again...
If I'm interested in someone older than I am, how old is too old? Considering I watch PBS News Hour and Antiques Roadshow??
How often should I visit my dentist? Is every 6 years often enough?
Does having an opinion about something make me an expert? If so, my Facebook feed is full of experts. Time to deactivate Facebook?
And lastly...
If my sister wore my shirt to her photo-op with Chris Evans at ComicCon, isn't it kinda like I'm in the picture too? And if his hand is totally touching my shirt, isn't he basically touching me?
Well, last night was a bit of a bust, but at least it was a fun bust. My sisters and I made plans for dinner and a movie, but never specified what we wanted to do for either. Since we couldn't all agree on dinner, we ended up getting takeout from 2 different restaurants. Picking a movie? Forget it... Instead of carting a bunch of random DVDs to my sister's house, we opted for the blue-ray player. You know, so we could spend half the evening researching and arguing over movies on Netflix. Except when we arrived at my sister's and set up the player we realized the remote control had been left at home. Useless.
So Lauren was sent on a quest to find a movie. A quick trip to a local Redbox resulted in 2 random picks: The Best of Me (James Marsden?? Well, okay.) and Woman In Black 2 (because it seemed an ironic choice for our girls' night). Neither were high on my list, but the selection was pretty limited. And I just haven't worked up a desire to watch the final Hobbit movie yet...
So we watched Woman In Black 2 first. All of us had seen the original and decided the sequel was much less creepy. Except that possessed rocking chair was back and anytime it started rocking and creaking on its own (which was about half the film) I had to plug my ears and look away. There's a rocking chair in the room next to mine so I don't like thinking about it.
Next up was The Best of Me. We just needed something to dispel any bad juju that lingered from the first movie, even though I really don't care much for Nicholas Sparks. I feel like I was run over and left for dead by whatever bandwagon people jumped on when The Notebook first came out. But let's not dwell on what is probably Sparks' masterpiece compared to last night's viewing selection...
Trademark Nicholas Sparks Movie Poster Format
The Best of Me is about high school sweethearts who are reunited after 21 years when their friend passes away. You don't know much about either of them except that Dawson (James Marsden) recently survived a major explosion on an oil rig that jettisoned him into the ocean where he bobbed like a cork for 4 hours, contemplating the meaning of life. Then there's Amanda (Michelle Monaghan), a woman trapped in a loveless marriage to a wealthy, self-absorbed, golf-playing alcoholic. Because of course. The two are soon confronted by their shared past - a story which unfolds in a number of flashback sequences as they clean out their deceased friend's home.
Which brings me to my biggest gripe of the entire movie. Young Dawson - who had more screen time than older, handsomer Dawson - was played by an actor named Luke Bracey who is shown here next to James Marsden...
Double take!
They could be twins, right?? No, they could NOT be twins. I don't know who was responsible for this casting, but it didn't work. I felt like I was watching a movie about 2 different people instead of younger and older versions of the same person. This photo doesn't even do their differences justice - it was so distracting!
Anyway... The movie played out more like a Hallmark Hall of Fame feature with its gag-inducing cliches, but it still had about everything you could expect from Nicholas Sparks. Whose movies really are just big budget Hallmark Hall of Fame features when you think about it.I'll admit, there were a couple moments I couldn't help but go "Awww..." but then there were also little gems like this one: You want me to fall back in love with you? How do I do that if I haven't ever stopped?
Terrible...
But despite its overwhelming predictability (I called the ending about halfway through), there was a little last minute twist that took the story to a new level. A ridiculous level, but at least it was somewhat unexpected. If you want to know what it was, just ask.
So that was our girls' night in. A takeout shmorgasbord, a horror film we watched from behind our fingers, and a chick flick we openly mocked but still enjoyed... for all the wrong reasons.
Good... I let a lady cut ahead of me in line at Michaels Crafts over the weekend. She had only a few items compared to my cartful so I thought I’d be polite. I later realized it was Sister Jean A. Stevens, 1st counselor in the General Primary Presidency... I KNOW.
Bad... When the cashier asked if she’d like to donate a dollar to purchase a book for charity, she declined. Come on, Sister Stevens... Pay it forward.
Good... I’m back in the habit of taking my daily walkies, either up at Planet Fitness or around my neighborhood depending on the hour. Spring is ideal for walkies.
Bad... Sometimes these walks are very late in the evening. But I’ve found this body prefers even late night exercise to no exercise at all. Which can be annoying.
Good... I was released from my calling as a Relief Society teacher. No more of the-gospel-according-to-Lauren! I’m now the communications chairperson for my ward, which means I’m in charge of our ward emails, Facebook page, bulletin, etc. It’s the cushy behind-the-scenes calling I’ve been waiting for.
Bad... I don’t know if they thought putting me in charge of getting information to everyone about ward activities would persuade me to actually show up to stuff, but… it hasn’t. Not yet. The girl who had the calling before me said while she tried to make the weekly emails about activities sound fun and inviting, she herself was strictly a Sunday only meeting-goer. To which I said, “Bless you.”
Good... I went to Zumba for the first time in months and months. My membership for Salt Lake County Parks & Rec facilities expired last year and with it my unlimited access to Zumba classes. But my sister, who still has her membership, offered to pay for this evening's class for me. How nice!
Bad... I do not have Zumba knees anymore. I have not-Zumba knees. All that twisting and fancy footwork will surely plague me tomorrow.
Good... 2 of my pieces were given the thumbs up for the student art show! Shut up about school already, Lauren...
Bad... They still have to pass the in-person jury process. Which meant framing both pieces and handing them in. I’m feeling pretty good about one of them, but we’ll see what happens.
Good... Finally, some rain! And a bit of snow, too. I was giddy all day.
Bad... Not sure if the occasional rainstorm will compensate for our very dry winter, but I'm grateful for every drop that falls. Even if I hate driving in it.
...The new gray paint on my bedroom walls. I picked out a shade called Sparrow because it was nice and dark. I have painted those walls three times now and am relieved that the painting phase is past. All that's left is cutting and installing the baseboards then the room itself is FINISHED.
...Ironically, my new oil painting class. Painting a canvas is more liberating than trying to paint a straight edge around a doorframe.
...Costa Vida. I used to think, why would I bother with something similar to Cafe Rio when I can just get Cafe Rio? Well, they're less expensive, less crowded, they have specials for students, and the customer service is better. Usually I'm sympathetic to anyone in the service industry (been there), but lately Cafe Rio's employees have ranged from indifferent to nasty. I imagine working in a busy restaurant sucks, but please stop acting like we're all here to ruin your life.
...Into the Woods. I could watch it over and over and over. I especially love: Emily Blunt as The Baker's Wife, Meryl Streep as The Witch, and Chris Pine as Prince Charming. I may elaborate in a future post if I'm seized by the notion.
...Valentine's Day decorations replacing Christmas decorations.
...A new game I tried out over the weekend called Loaded Questions.
...The departure of a couple people at work. Including someone who's fairly notorious around here... Yup. The office has breathed a collective sigh of relief. But she left on her own steam, guys... I wouldn't celebrate someone getting sacked, even if I thought they were HORRIBLE. That's just not nice.
...Sleeping in my own bed for the first time in over a month.
...An album called The Voyager by Jenny Lewis. I like it in a boy-do-I-relate-to-this sort of way. The songs describe one woman's experiences and regrets, but there is definitely an upbeat, nostalgic element to them. Favorite tracks: One of the Guys, She's Not Me, Late Bloomer, A New You. That's all pretty telling... This song is probably one of my favorites from her Rilo Kiley days (and her romper is so cute!)...
...Getting rid of stuff. This bedroom remodel has seen a few phases of purging and I'm sure more of my useless possessions will see a trash can or a thrift shop before I'm finished. I'm trying to make room in my life for the things I need and stop getting cornered in by the stuff I don't.
Loathes
...The former gray paint I originally painted my bedroom. A gray called Quietude. How nice that sounds! It was supposed to be a medium/light shade, but it was barely discernible from the white I purchased for my ceiling and trim. All this after buying multiple samples. So we painted one wall and waited to see if it dried any darker. It didn't. But since the paint was non-returnable nor exchangeable, I decided to suck it up and just throw the stuff on the walls. Both cans. Maybe 2 coats would do the trick... 2 coats and 48 hours later, the paint wasn't any grayer than when we'd started. I called it Inversion White, which is the dirtiest a white can get without being a gray. I cried a bit (it's a big bedroom and I was just so tired of it all) and then announced that I was going to buy more paint in a much darker shade. Which seemed to relieve the entire family. Though they initially reassured me the color was fine, they actually thought it was horrendous.
...The inversion... The actual outside-and-in-my-lungs inversion.
...Carrie Underwood. Lately, and I'm not sure why, we've been listening to a country music station at work. It's not turned up very loud and I will usually have my own music in one ear, but there's this new Carrie Underwood song they keep playing. I couldn't really tell you how it goes, just that she shout/sings the word "SSSTTROOOOOONNNGGGEEERRRRR!!!" quite a lot. Carrie is lovely and her voice is flawless. Obnoxiously so. If you like music that is shiny and nice and usually has one volume and tonal quality, Carrie's your girl.
...Carpal tunnel in my right wrist. An unexpected (and unpleasant) side-effect of over-exerting my right side with repeated attempts at painting a room that is approximately 22 x 13'. My left side's still fully operational for now!
...People who brag about things like never taking Ibuprofen or drinking soda. Like, right as someone else is ingesting them. I'm the kind of abomination that usually chases down a couple Advil with a swig of Diet Coke.
...Loud Spotify ads. If I'm listening to a playlist of classical and instrumental music, maybe find ads that would correspond with that genre. And then cut the volume in half.
...Pre-Relief Society Lesson anxiety. My last lesson, though! So there's a silver lining.
In anticipation of the New Year, I've compiled all of my unfinished blog posts. These were drafts I started, but didn't know what to do with. You'll see why...
So here they are! In no specific order, Lauren's incomplete thoughts of 2014...
I hate anxiety... I really do. I hate the sunken uneasiness it fills me with - except anxiety doesn't really fill, it empties. Confidence, optimism, self-assurance, and even faith are all poured out and replaced by hollow dread. Triggers for my anxiety vary - we all have them - but the very worst is the anxiety you can't quite explain. So you try to figure it out and find a reason, because there must be a reason... But there's not always a reason. You start asking what if?when you should really ask so what? and move on...
Beautiful spring days make these empty work hours go by so slowly. I made the mistake of logging onto Yahoo to check my email and soon found myself browsing a couple “news” articles. One was about women’s health and fitness and while the article itself was clever and informative (PINNED!), many of the responses posted in the comments feed below were DISGUSTING. Not to mention irrelevant. I’m still untying the knots in my stomach. As I read these hate-filled rants about women’s bodies, I marveled at how anyone could articulate such ugly thoughts, even from behind anonymous internet profiles...
There are periods throughout your life when you're comforted by the thought that there's still time for everything...
Feeling pretty discouraged by what I've heard in the news over the last few months. When you try to understand what's happening on a global scale, it's hard to find much joy in those things that exist at your fingertips. You would think that kind of perspective would make me more appreciative, and I guess it does... But you also wonder (or at least I wonder) at how the impoverished, abused, and oppressed shoulder so many burdens... You wonder what others might achieve with the same opportunities and freedoms you have; how they might do it all a little better...
Blogging doesn't seem to be much of a thing anymore. Very few of my friends post on their blogs these days. There are capital 'B' Bloggers and lowercase 'b' bloggers. I'm not really socially or financially invested in this blog and have only about 6 readers (Hi, Mom!) so I suppose that lumps me with the latter. But like most bloggers, ultimately I'm here to amuse myself...
It's so late. Too late. I'm already losing ground on the hour of sleep I gained over the weekend with the end of Daylight Savings...
As I listen to those shouting from the fringes of public opinion clamor for what's politically and socially "right," I often wonder where I stand. Confronted with an opinion, I may think, "Nope... I don't think so," only to react similarly when confronted by an opposing opinion. Can an opinion, based on one's personal experiences and beliefs, be absolutely right? Or is it only right for the individual and those who share similar experiences which have formed similar opinions? Does it matter? I guess I don't really believe that opinions can't be universally right or good, but lately I've found myself in a void - a state of perpetual gray where nothing seems as black and white as others claim. Do most people quietly form their own opinions by processing the scarred bits of information thrown at them each day? Patiently listening, hoping to understand all the noise while everyone else just shouts?
I want my very own life coach. Not the kind that checks in every once in awhile to see how things are going, but someone who could shadow me throughout the day. Someone to motivate me from the moment I trundle out of bed in the morning. Someone to cheer me on and celebrate my successes, however small, while downplaying my failures, however large. Someone to swat away negative thoughts and influences before they take hold. Oh, yes...
There are a few drafts I'm saving that are more fully realized. We'll share those eventually or just delete them. Sometimes it's enough to just find the words and then move on. This is a funny little blog, I know. But I appreciate the outlet it provides for all my muddy thoughts.
How can I know what I think 'til I see what I say?
Earlier this year I read a book by Diane Keaton called Then Again. I know Jennifer Lawrence and Emma Stone are "it" these days, but Diane Keaton is one of my favorite actresses. She marches to the beat of her own offbeat drum, but she doesn't bang the thing right in your face. In her book she shares stories about growing up in sunny Southern California (hard life) and becoming an actress, but mostly she discusses her relationship with her mother. She even includes pieces from her mother's own memoirs and intersperses them throughout the book, drawing parallels between their lives and experiences. I thought it was a very sweet tribute to her mother and an interesting way of telling her own stories.
Reading Keaton's first book, I was pleased to discover she really is neurotic... The woman wears a lot of hats and gloves, guys. Neurotic, insecure, but still somehow extremely self-assured. And even though she's that actress who always seems to play some version of herself in her movies (since I know her, of course), she's so likable you don't mind. Most of her roles (the best ones, anyway) are variations of the same high-strung but well-meaning heroine who inevitably has some sort of hysterical meltdown. She's good at meltdowns.
I recently started reading her second book - Let's Just Say It Wasn't Pretty, her memoir about working in the cliche beauty-and-youth-and-beauty obsessed world of Hollywood. Not something I can relate to on that scale, but it's still stuff I worry about.What I admire is that despite holding onto life-long insecurities about her looks and being encouraged to get some things "fixed" - droopy eyes, bulbous nose, flimsy hair - Keaton hasn't had a single nip, tuck, or injection. If all that's true, it's pretty commendable.
In this second book, there's an entire chapter about hair-envy and how much she's battled against her own uncooperative strands. HATS, remember? In another chapter she talks about the irony of inheriting the shape of her eyes from her father, someone with whom she hardly ever saw things eye to eye. Then there are the chapters describing her general awkwardness, anxieties, and pursuit of authenticity. All of this SPEAKS TO ME.
Other chapters discuss the pursuit of beauty. One chapter describes a wall in her home that consists of almost 50 photographs of different men - all famous actors, artists, musicians, models, political figures, etc. Her "detainees." Some she's met or worked with, others she's admired from a distance. The most prominent photo of the bunch is a famous portrait taken of Abraham Lincoln, one she describes as "beautiful." As an unabashed fanatic who has dedicated an entire Pinterest board to the same creepy pastime of collecting famous (and beautiful) men's faces, this speaks to me also. She asserts, "Other women collect men too; they must." This woman does.
I suppose I'm not really recommending these books. If you like Diane Keaton and you're familiar with her movies then you'd probably enjoy them. What fascinates (and reassures) me is how universal female insecurity is. On one hand, Keaton's book makes her seem somewhat narcissistic, but in each chapter she refocuses every self-conscious observation with this reminder: our existence doesn't have to revolve around what we hate about ourselves. Or around what we envy in others. It's not the beauty of the eyes, but the beauty of what they see. It's not about the inescapable embarrassment of the moment, but the ability to laugh at yourself later. It's not about trying to stop time from mapping its course across your face, but realizing that even after all the "fixes," there's still no stopping it. Cliches, yes, but cliches are usually just things that are true.
So yeah. She seems an unlikely favorite, but she is. I'll wrap it up her best movie meltdown... At 0:52 especially.
Tomorrow when I hand in my midterm project to my instructor, I'm going repress every violent impulse I've had over the weekend to pinch her. For the last 3 days I sat isolated in my basement with a light box on my lap and a fat fistful of cool gray Prismacolor markers and black Micron pens. I celebrated Halloween by tracing typefaces and photos, resurfacing only to grab handfuls of candy reserved for Trick-or-Treaters from my Mom's witches' cauldron. Then, hours later with my teeth full of Butterfinger, I went to bed so I could wake the next morning and begin again.
At my office party on Friday I wore all black and threw on some of my flapper girl accessories so I wasn't a total party pooper - I had a large feather boa, headband, and a long pearl necklace. Not very exciting, but my original plan to dress as a female Bilbo fell through. The costume would have been easy enough to throw together (no that I normally dress like a Hobbit), except I needed a few key pieces, namely the One Ring and some Hobbit ears. Maybe next year... Besides, I still probably would have lost our office costume contest to the guy dressed up as a large Whoopee Cushion.
I did manage to fit in some Halloween festivities with my cousins and their families on Thursday. We had a potato bar dinner and watched Hocus Pocus while carving pumpkins. I felt ambitious and decided I would try carving Sherlock's face for my pumpkin. I printed off a photo and mapped out where my cuts would go, but it was a disaster. So I flipped the pumpkin around and carved a cute Jack-O-Lantern face instead... Boring. The idea was to carve Sherlock and place it in what I would call my Benedict Pumpkin Patch... Again, maybe next year. It'll be great.
Do you know what happens to a body when one arrives at school before the sun's up and then finally heads home only after the sun's down? It's disorienting. I just casually checked the time and... MIDNIGHT.
I don't like having to wake up when the sky outside still looks the dead of night. Everything is so dark and still, but no - you actually just slept through your last snooze alarm. So if I'm going to make tomorrow morning any easier on myself, I'd better keep this short.
Here's a list of recent milestones that aren't really significant so I guess they're not really milestones...
This week I decided to part ways with Salt Lake County Rec Center and join up with Planet Fitness. The membership won't cost me quite as much and I like that they're open 24 hours a day on weekdays. Yesterday's evening jaunt began at 11:00 and ended close to midnight. Still, I don't think I'll make late night workouts a habit. It's just nice having options.
I've studied the scriptures and read at least one article or story from the Ensign everyday this week. Just flexing some spiritual muscle after our most recent (and most excellent) General Conference. Though it's probably become a little muddied since, I'm trying not to lose that post-Conference glow. We'll keep it together... Kinda... And exercise patience with the whole process.
I embarked on the thrilling task of cleaning out my email accounts. Someone showed me how to unsubscribe from the many companies that have added me to their mailing lists over the years and buried me in useless information. No more sales announcements from Oshkosh B'Gosh. No more newsletters from the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. No more coupons for tasty new sandwiches at Arby's. No more. Last week I attended Frightmares at Lagoon for the first time ever. Lots of spooky stuff, but not too spooky. I even in went into one of their scariest attractions - a zombie detention facility where the "zombies" had taken over and were hunting for brains (of course). I was startled a few times, but it wasn't that bad once you realized the zombies screaming in your face and chasing you down dark corridors were really just skinny teenagers in heavy makeup. If I want to be scared witless, I'll just stand in line for the Wicked ride. UPDATE: No lie... As I typed this paragraph, The Cranberries' Zombie started playing on my iTunes. I made a potato salad for a work potluck and it was a hit. Potato salads are tricky. In all my years of potlucks, picnics, and barbecues, I haven't come across a recipe that's quite as tasty as my aunt Annette's. Who knows? Maybe this potato salad will achieve the same notoriety as my supervisor's highly revered and oft-requested spinach, cheese, and jalapeño dip.
I dreamt the other night that I was driving my Corolla through a city. Rain and fog obscured my surroundings, but I was headed somewhere in a hurry. It was early in the morning and except for me, the streets and sidewalks were empty. Finally I pulled off the road, parked my car, and walked across the street toward an old building. Through the fog, I could make out letters above its large, open entryway: Marylebone Station...
In the movieEnough Said, James Gandolfini's character asks: "Why do women like things that look like they belong to children?"
Julia Louis-Dreyfus replies: "You know what I love? Dollhouse furniture. I would eat it if I could."
Lately I've been obsessed with Tiny Houses. Not sure if this is just part of a broader female obsession with all things miniature as the above exchange suggests, but I love them. Tiny porches, tiny chimneys, and tiny shutters! Cuteness aside, I find the concept of living on less appealing - especially when you consider the average house size in the US has doubled in the last 40 years, even though family sizes are much smaller. (I know this because a documentary told me.) 2 houses in my parents' neighborhood were recently bulldozed to make way for a 9,000 square foot behemoth that will house a family of 4. That's 2,250 square feet per person. That seems just as insane as trying to live on a much smaller scale. The home I grew up in is roughly 60 years old and has 4 bedrooms (5 if you're desperate) and 2 bathrooms. It's also the home my mother grew up in with her sisters... All 6 of them. By today's standards, that's a lot of people (GIRLS!!) in one home that size. Even if you admire the concept of tiny homes as I do, you still probably think it's extreme - "Where would you keep all your stuff?" or "How would you entertain guests?" I think these are a couple of reasons why a small house would be ideal... I don't want to mindlessly accumulate more things (books, movies, and thimbles being the exception) nor do I want to pay for a great big house for the sole purpose of maybe entertaining large groups every once in a while. I just don't know that many people. If we do get together, let's meet at a restaurant or a movie. Let's congregate outdoors for a barbecue or have a picnic. You can still come over, I just might not have a living room that seats everyone comfortably. So, how tiny is tiny? I will admit that some tiny houses are probably too tiny for my taste. Like, 125 square feet tiny. Most of these are usually relocatable homes on wheels - the kind a modern-day Laura Ingalls Wilder might settle down in while on the prairie. Personally, I would want something permanent with a bit more square footage. Mobility is nice, but that's what camper trailers are for. And some tiny houses really are just glorified camper trailers. Anyway... If you have Netflix, you should check out a documentary called Tiny: A Story About Living Small. Then if you're game, maybe we could be tiny house neighbors. Because how cute would that be??
Cool it with the near-pornographic health & fitness pins of women flexing their tanned, air-brushed bottoms in tiny panties. Do you want to motivate women or discourage them before they even know what your "booty-licious butt workout" is all about? Sounds gross. Looks grosser.
Dear Rain,
More... MOOORRREEEEE!!!
Dear Important Public Figures Who Die And Are Suddenly Quoted By The Masses Online,
I guess we're honoring your legacy by recalling all the beautiful things you said while you were still with us. Things we once pinned on Pinterest. Or scribbled on a Post-It we later placed on our bathroom mirrors as encouragement. (Maybe that was just me...) Yes, hopefully now we'll try a little harder to live by your wisdom... But let's also hope your words were attributed correctly on the internet to begin with.
Dear Cute Sandwich Guy,
Thanks for making my tasty turkey and cranberry sandwich on wheat. Though I'd still probably thank you even if you weren't cute, as attractiveness usually doesn't signify any guy's ability to make a tasty sandwich. But then this would be addressed to "Sandwich Guy" instead of "Cute Sandwich Guy," so...
Dear Guy Running Next to Me On A Treadmill,
Uh-oh... You’ve jammed your machine a couple times now...I'm not sure hanging off the console like that is good running form. Looks a bit awkward. And you seem fit - I saw you walking upright when you got here! Just run with the treadmill, not against it. And if you can't, ease up on the incline and dial back the speed to a more comfortable pace. "It is not requisite that a man should run faster than he has strength." That's why you see me just chuggin' along. Let's chug together.
Dear Ichiban Sushi,
Thank you for the extra eel sauce! You know you don't drizzle enough of that stuff on your Vegas Roll... Next time I think I'll just have a bowl of the eel sauce with my sushi as a side.
Dear This,
I haven't heard of a Northern gentleman, but I do think an English gentleman trumps a Southern gentleman every time. I could drop a few names if you'd like...
Dear Girl Who Keeps Referring to Herself as a Solid 7,
I've heard you repeat the same dating stories a few times now. Stories in which you relate all the reasons why, on a scale of 1 to 10, you think you're a 7. Or how you've dated a bunch of zeros. As a Solid 3, I appreciate that you have better self-esteem than myself (unless this is really just an exercise in building confidence?) and yeah, I bet it is hard out there for a 7... But rating yourself and then gloating about it? I'm docking you a couple points. Which, I realize, would make me about a 1... Since I'm just sitting here complaining about you on the internet.
Dear Roadkill Scattered All Over The Highway On My Way To Work,
You are one of the less pleasant signs of summer and you make me sad. Then after a few days, you make me sick. I often can't identify what you once were - probably something with a cute, furry face - but whatever your species, please save your little 4-legged selves and stay away from the road. Remember, that big loud thing with 18 wheels can move a lot faster than you and it doesn't care how cute you are.
Dear Adventure Time,
Like Spongebob Squarepants, you are funny, strange, and just a little bit perverted. Only slightly moreso.
Sincerely,
The Solid 3
P.S. Sometimes I hate everything I type (too snarky! too boring! too personal!), but then I consider the time I took to type it and the time it would take revising before I didn't hate it anymore... Aaaaannndd publish.
For the last few months, I've been preoccupied by the thought that I'll be turning 29 (the final frontier of my twenties) in December. I've thought about it so often that while entering my personal information on a treadmill at the gym - age, weight, workout duration - I absentmindedly listed my age as 29. (I entered the weight incorrectly as well, just not quite so absentmindedly.) I also recently told someone I was 29, then backpedalled and assured them I was really only 28. Most people think I'm about 20 years old anyway, so whatever... Maybe my subconscious is making peace with 29 so that when December 9, 2014 does finally arrive, it won't sting quite so much. I'm 28... I'm 28... I'm 28...
Another milestone I've blogged about recently which ties into this approaching birthday - my 10 year high school reunion. I have friends who want to go and other friends who (really) don't want to go. Meanwhile, I'm thinking why don't we just plan something we ALL want to do and then all go do that thing instead? We'll see... Parts of me are curious about meeting up with the Class of '04, but more parts of me find the prospect pretty repellent. Eesh.
I never did choke on that darn fly. Like most flies, I think it attempted escape and ended up dying in the space between my window and window screen. You can only buzz around in there for so long... I also killed a giant spider the other day as it crawled out from under my bed. And don't forget the dozens of mosquitoes who met their own untimely ends as they sampled Lauren's all-you-can-drink-before-getting-slapped buffet. Ah, summer...
Speaking of summer, today's temperature was just over 90 degrees. Which is entering uncomfortable territory for me. My clothes start feeling not right on my body, my hair feels like I'm wearing warm blanket over my head, and I lose energy with every increase in temperature. When I got home from work today I walked straight into my bedroom, stripped off my outfit, and collapsed on my bed where I napped for over an hour. After waking I felt like a human again, and not a surly she-beast. Now I'm back in bed - fully clothed in my PJ's, thank you - my box fan humming softly as it blows cool air from my bedroom floor. Ah, summer evenings...
Here are a few other things I enjoy about summer that I would do well to remember when I can't take the heat...
Watermelon
Trips to the pool
Lots more daylight, especially early in the mornings.
Fireworks
"Those su-hummer (pause) na-hiiiiiights!"
Slushies, Slurpees, Icees...
Flip-flops
Not having to pause at crosswalks or reduce speed in school zones on my way to work.
Coldplay... They released a new album and I don't care what anyone else says, they are great. Greatest ever? Maybe not. But I just don't care.
Happy news... Sometimes good, exciting things happen to people you know and you can't help but feel happy for them. The genuine kind of happy, not the okay-I'm-happy-for-you-but-I'm-not-about-to-throw-you-a-party happy. I really do feel genuine happiness for most people, so feel free to share any good news with me!
Ingrid Michaelson... I am a sometimes fan of her stuff, but I've loved this new "Girls Chase Boys" song. Here's a fun game! First, watch Robert Palmer's video for "Simply Irresistible"...
Then watch the "Girls Chase Boys" video...
See? Such fun.
Someday, Someday, Maybe by Lauren Graham... Lorelai Gilmore wrote a book! And it isn't terrible! Except it sounds a lot like Lorelai Gilmore. Which is majorly entertaining, but sometimes hard to follow.
Spring... And all its various sights and smells! Since I can't be outdoors all the time, I've resorted to throwing open plenty of windows.
Running through sprinklers... My siblings and I planned a trip to our community pool which was supposed to open on Memorial Day. When we arrived, the door was bolted shut. A few phone calls later we found out the pool hadn't been heated or treated yet, so NO POOL... We resorted to backyard sprinklers and childishly chasing one another with a garden hose. I officially hate running in a bathing suit.
Sunscreen... The official smell of warmer weather.
Reverse Charades... It's just like it sounds - you divide into teams, but only one person from your team tries to guess as everyone else performs. When our team drew Fred Astaire, my dad didn't feel like he could pull it off. So we told him he could be Ginger Rogers when we acted it out.
This Book... The title of which sums up how I feel whenever I hop on my Facebook or Instagram accounts these days...
YES. Yes, they are.
Ugly Betty... I think I caught half of the last season when it originally aired in 2010. The show popped up on Netflix recently so I decided I'd start from the beginning. BLECH. Thank heavens there are only 4 seasons, because I could not commit to more. I paused it the other day when my mom walked in the room. She asked, "Are you watching something naughty?" and I said, "No, it's just stupid. And I don't want any witnesses."
Almonds/Chocolate... Any combination of the two, really. Except almond chocolate milk. ICK.
Family... However you define family... We all need somewhere safe where we can find encouragement and feel comfortable being ourselves. You can't choose your family, but ideally you'd choose them anyway. And that's how I feel (most of the time) about my family.
I don't have to wash my hair tomorrow. So I can justify staying up late to write a little something, though I've nothing really significant to report. I thought I might share a review for a couple books I've read recently, but I'd rather not stay up quite that late. I'm also long overdue on a post about Captain America: The Winter Soldier, but not able to do it justice tonight. I'm sure you'll thank me when I finally do. The Coworker is up to her usual hijinks, but I've decided I won't concern myself (or you) about her anymore. We're all ridiculous in our own way and I wouldn't want anyone editorializing about my ridiculousness on the internet, however anonymously. If I can laugh about something that happens at work without doing so at someone else's expense, then you'll hear all about it. We'll laugh together.
Certain aspects of this past week have been extremely frustrating. I'm learning that sometimes the harder you try, the more difficult a task seems. I'm also learning the more help you feel you need, the less help you may receive. Um, help? I'm reminded of a saying...
Right now my hair is tied up in a bandana knot. I'm trying new hairstyles for my in-between-hair-washing days. Did you know you shouldn't wash your hair everyday? Well, apparently you shouldn't. Which works for me, because I don't. Just too lazy, I guess. I usually alternate between hair down on clean hair days and hair up on slightly-less-clean hair days. (Stop reading now if you want... This really isn't going anywhere...)
Ponytails and buns can get pretty boring so we'll see how these bandana curls work out. I attempted foam curlers last week and the result was much, much more extreme than I intended. I spent half the day deflecting compliments like "Cute curls!" with a half-hearted "Oh, thanks." They're the kind of compliments well-meaning folks share as a way of politely acknowledging an obvious change in your appearance, whether that change is good or bad... or just different. Like when The Coworker dyed her hair maroon and I thought YIKES!! but what I told her was "Cute hair!" I could grow a beard and people would probably say "Cute beard!" Maybe if I curled it, anyway. Or dyed it maroon.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, compliments are nice. Even the insincere ones.
If I buy your Sweetheart blue jeans in one size, I expect that same size to fit just as well in the black Sweetheart jeans. So stop it.
Dear Captain America...
Your new movie comes out in one week! I don’t know how it happened, but you are my favorite Avenger. (How did I come to have a favorite Avenger in the first place?) Maybe it’s because you’re from a bygone generation. Maybe I'm inspired by your humble beginnings – your father wasn’t a wealthy entrepreneur or a Norse God. Or maybe I’m more patriotic than I realize. If I’m honest, it’s likely because you’re played by Chris Evans. But whatever.
Dear Zumba...
If I didn’t have to share you with dozens of other sweaty women, I might attend more regularly. Isn’t there some sort of safety code we’re violating with this many people shoved in one dance room? Zumba’s hard enough without worrying about stepping on little old ladies every time I mambo or cha-cha. Oh, and more hip hop please!
Dear Boo...
You are so endearingly pathetic in your clear little Cone of Shame. It’s even more pathetic when you try to lick yourself through the plastic. If we didn’t think you’d gnaw off your leg, we’d remove it. Just embrace the cone for now. It serves a purpose beyond making us giggle whenever you saunter sadly into a room.
Dear Thursday...
Why-oh-why did you feel like a Friday?
Dear Malaysian Flight 370...
Okay, so what really happened to you? Because I don't believe anything I hear on the news anymore...The thought of crashing into the ocean is terrifying enough, but for a plane and its 239 passengers to just disappear completely? For weeks?? Anything they tell us now just sounds like a massive coverup. A debris field discovered off the coast of Australia? Satellite signals? Sonar imaging of the ocean floor? We'll see...
Dear Chris Martin (of Coldplay)...
Sorry about your recent "conscious uncoupling" from Gwyneth Paltrow. I read all about it (several times... in different articles...) on Yahoo. You should channel all that post break-up emotion into some melancholy new music. I would buy that album...
Dear Vacation Time...
Let's think of some fun ways I can use you up. We're nearing 8 months without a vacation... I don't need to go far... Just far enough.
Dear High School Reunion...
To go, or not to go? That is the question. I'm definitely leaning one way more than the other. Care to guess?
Dear Facebook Quizzes...
Thank you for validating my life in one of the most superficial ways possible. Based on the quizzes I've taken thus far, I work as a designer and live in London with my roommate and bestie Amy Poehler. Joseph Gordon-Levitt is my boyfriend, of course, but if I were single it would only be because I'm too attractive. The downside? I'm Lady Edith.
Why is it that when you're all alone, whether at home or elsewhere, your hearing suddenly becomes superhuman? Yesterday after work I gathered all my supplies and drove up to our ward building to finally put up the new bulletin board. When I arrived, the sun was still out so I didn't feel nervous about being there all alone. Large empty buildings in daylight are not as menacing as large empty buildings after dark. Buildings like libraries, museums, and churches. Still, I tried not to think about it.
The ward itself was full of noises - the furnace firing up and blowing warm air through the rooms, doors rattling in their frames, little snap-crackle-pops of untrodden floorboards, and the buzz of fluorescent lighting. There was even a flurry of children's voices, but I'm pretty sure these were outdoors. No less creepy, though. Especially when your imagination torments you like mine does.
I'm glad this didn't occur to me at the time, but our ward has an elevator that leads from the basement where I was working up to the main level. Can you imagine sitting alone in a church basement after dark and hearing the DING!! of elevator doors opening?? Like I said, my imagination is a bully. And the darker it got outside, the more noticeable all these noises were inside. My senses were heightened to the point where I was probably inventing some of them.
When I left 2 1/2 hours later I had to turn off the lights. Whoever designed the building 60 years ago didn't think to put the light switches near an exit. I would have to switch them off and then run through darkened corridors to reach the nearest exit. I switched the lights off once to get a sense of how dark it would be, but turned them right back on. Too dark! Off again. On again. OFF. ON. Okay, off again... And RUN!!
Here is a picture of the finished product... Because this post is already too long.
