the stuff of blogging ubiquity

Here I go with "letters" to things in my life. These were actually really fun to do.

Dear holiday in the sun for the next 6+ months,
Come into these loving arms! Best idea ever!

Dear Courtney, Ray, Ty, Brooke (and Trent?),
Can't wait to partake of Mary-Kate and Ashley (plus vintage Megan Fox) goodness together with our fams. Most hilarious Christmas tradition!!!
(PS These two videos (here and here) are MONEY)

Dear Neverland,
I will see you soon! But not before Hawaii with the fam...I know, I know, I would hate me too...

Dear Cabela's,
Thanks for providing me gear for Neverland. Frankly, I was terrified when I walked in, as your patrons and crevasses of retail space ooze all attitudes pro-NRA, pro-wearing camouflage-for-daywear, pro-Sarah Palin, pro-let's drive-V-12-monster-trucks-just-because-we-can, all of which I am scared of.
And I'm going to keep that preposition dangled.

Dear New York,
My heart still aches for you. Every day. And especially now at Christmastime, when so many of my friends have been taking trips to see you. Just thought I'd let you know.

Dear Places,
I am so glad I can fall in love with you because when I do, you never let me down. The healthiest open relationship I will ever have.

Dear life,
THIS NEXT CHAPTER IS SO EXCITING THAT IT WARRANTS CAPS. ARE YOU EXCITED?! BECAUSE I AM!

Dear Utah,
As a whole, you weren't terrible, but you weren't great either. But this semester, you really killed my soul. Frankly, I'm planning on never seeing you again! Sianara.

Dear Lord of the Rings DVDs,
Get ready for some quality time together this Christmas...

Dear mind,
I put you through a lot. You are my biggest trial, and also what I am afraid of losing most. I hope by that time I will be carefree enough to slip peacefully into old age.

Dear Awkward Man (boy)?
I am not revealing anything else about our flirty date (?) last weekend because I still can't wrap my head around how awkward you were when we parted ways. Like, I am sorry for you, your awkwardness and presumable other issues. Why are you so good on paper?

Dear 6-inches of shorn hair,
I don't miss you! I am enjoying my long bob.

Dear Mom,
You are so funny for looking up the Samsonite Trolley Suitcase. You love me so much, that you would spend time on the phone with their customer service only to find out it is not sold in the USA yet. Love you, Charita!

Dear Ray Flyer,
Your text to me about kitchen dance parties made my day. I can't wait.


Dear bank of vocabulary,
I can palpably feel you waning right now, much so. I apologize, much. This semester was busy and I didn't have time to read much. I feel like I've much regressed, but all will be ok again after a book or two (one can never read too much). Much is an ugly word, used incorrectly much of the time.

xoxo

Half of my [head's] got a grip on the situation

I thought it was absurd when my high school teachers would harp on us to always be true to who we really were, because teenage years are such a poor prediction of how one is going to lead his or her life.

Since at BYU there is a markedly lesser amount of existential crisis at surface level, these "who am I" questions are significantly more implied.

But I still think it's absurd to believe you have to have yourself figured out.
At least for me, the more I learn about myself, the less I know. So I'm always a little puzzled when people advise me to be true to myself. It's like when my parents would tell me to "just do your best."

They had to add "...with the time you have" to that statement because it was and still is the hardest statement for me to digest.



#MusicMonday - John Mayer's Battle Studies...if you didn't get the title I altered from Half of My Heart

AND of course MirandaSings Christmas Album!!! ;)

A-pathetic

Is how I've been feeling lately.

Midterm after paper after midterm after pesky quiz after another paper, etc.
Piercing windy cold.
Utah.
Waking up too uninspired to put on anything more than sweats.
Swallowing grainy horse pill vitamins to ward off H1N1.
Not applying a stitch of makeup for the week's majority.
Succumbing to the slippery slope of Ugg boots. (Rainbow sandals, I'll see you in a few...)

Does a-pathetic mean not pathetic, then?
Ooh, goody, I feel better already: there IS an empowering aspect of boredom!


On Tuesday, I started sobbing halfway through Greg Mortenson's forum address here at BYU (maybe the first time I've cried this whole year). It was brilliant, inspiring, humbling, hopeful, emancipating, and also real...I had been looking forward to it for several weeks, and will link it on here as soon as it is available online.


Regardless, I really think it's okay to wallow sometimes. A huge part of who I am is an isolated cavewoman. I LOVE alone time as much as I love social time, and I think my parents are reincarnated cavepeople: they need silence and stillness to recharge their batteries. Holing up in our rooms for hours to read, write and think in quiet sans TV or computer was a huge part of how I grew up.

I love my inner cavewoman. (But never fear, the next day I know I'll need to get out and run around to relax my brain from thinking!)

This song is one of my wallowing anthems, I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!

Reinforce as needed

"You're a genius all the time."

-Jack Kerouac

Fit for a Monday!

photo via here

Elated

I have had a professor this semester that has been particularly perplexing to please.

So I can't describe my tired happiness when after I spend hourrrs (and I mean HOURRRS) working on a midterm he emails a few minutes ago from Vienna (aside from the point, except to explain further how I'm wearily jealous) to tell me that my draft does not warrant any comments, just maybe polish up a few sentences in the opening?

CAN DO!

We all know rough drafts are the hardest ones to make, so yeah, I'll own up to sheer gratitude right now.

Sorry for the horn tootage.

Elate yourself with these fellas:

I'd take vomiting anyday...

I was telling a friend recently that whenever I'm around someone who I'm potentially interested in, (which does not happen very often at all because I am extremely picky as well as 'really intimidating'), I am serially shy until the awkwardness phase turns into a comfortable one.

Probably stems from all my former self-conscious days. Which is annoying, because it only makes the situation more awkward when I cannot contribute. I think I've learned to subconsciously counteract this habit by being a semi-good question asker. But then inevitably the ball gets placed in my court and then it's all over.

Awesome.

But then my friend argued that being a word vomit-er with a potential interest is more dangerous, because then they have material they can use in their case "against" you.

But no cool guy wants a boring girl!!! I'm convinced being a word vomiter would be more attractive.

Or one of my friends confesses that her inner-most secrets are more often made known to airplane seatmates, not her friends. Whereas instead of talking miles a minute at miles-high altitudes, my interaction with plane strangers consists of head-nodding yes or no if I or they need to get up past me.


So what are you?

a word vomiter

or

serially shy?

I'm curious...please footnote your thoughts and stories



PS: I can't think of "word vomit" without thinking of Mean Girls (ah such a classic!)...

Success.

Got sunburned this weekend.

(Albeit, barely).


At a body of water.

(Albeit, a pool.)


First Amendment law book did not make me cry.

(The foreign language-ness of it is getting easier.)


It's the little things, people...

Shout out to Denmark

I know I know I'm not supposed to be blogging. It's one of the things I thought about in my hour spent in the fetal position.

Anyway,

So regardless of the fact I'm practically 20th generation American (one on the Mayflower even), half my ancestry is Danish.

I mean, how did you think one could be called "shorty/runt/petite" by family at 5-feet-11 & 3/4 inches?

(Precise fractionated height due to being measured at a morning doctor's appointment a couple days ago. Maybe I'm really 6' at high-noon? What is 1/4 inch anyway: the flattest of flats put me at 6')

So needless to say I've been obsessed with all the talented Miss Brittany has done in Copenhagen...like this post and her blog in general. ("Brilliant")

And watch for the Danish shout out in this hilarious new ad campaign.

I believe in Denmark...after all, it's why I'm standing here today: all 5' 11 & 3/4 inches.

22 in 2

I am 22 in 2 weeks.

My due date 22 years ago was September 1. Thanks mom, for carrying me an extra 12 days. Fortunately, I compromised by weighing in at a mere 9 pounds, 8 ounces: the smallest of my sisters, mind you- (I still am at 5' 11 & 3/4")

I don't subscribe to astrology, but I still find light amusement in chick magazine horoscopes (don't we all).

(Kate even declared her college major on a Cosmo quiz's results.)

This one, I think, is the most shockingly downright true reading I've seen.


VIRGO (August 23-September 22)

The forecast: Count on the new moon to offer fresh perspective after weeks of soul searching.

(THANK YOU SUMMER! And hello, fall sweaters and scarves! I've missed you guys!)

Work mode: In the zone. Mercury refocuses your waning attention- that means you'll spend less time uploading your Labor Day montage to Flickr and more time knocking out that must-do list.

(Ever since I got back to Provo, I've been in zombie mode. I've forgotten things like chocolate bars in my desk and calling people back. Whoops.)

Love life: A new crop of guys is ripe for the picking, but remember: The best ones aren't always in easy reach.

(HA)

"Bargain foodie"

I was at Whole Paycheck Foods today...

Gorgonzola and walnut stuffed portobello mushroom caps...

Shrimp, spicy tuna, and salmon sushi (I made a landlocked sushi exception- sue me)...

Bars of dark chocolate with mint crisps...

And $15 on....

YOGURT.

Yes, I realize how ridiculous....

But it is GREEK yogurt- you know, the super high-quality thick and creamy but still nonfat kind.

I can't stomach the expense (pun intended) when it's not on sale. But today, it was.

The life of a bargain foodie.

Untitled from the West

I miss one of my sisters so much right now, but the silver lining is that I can listen to all the Regina Spektor I want, unfettered from her annoyed pleas to "turn that woman off!"
(Listen now: 'Dance Anthem of the 80s')


Google Reader- I don't even want to start with you...you are intimidating and anxiety inducing. 'Telle, consider this a plea for help.

The House at Sugar Beach- everyone must read NOW.

Post forthcoming, I can't say when...my thoughts are slurring together right now...


why am I blogging? Oh yeah, my new credo to be a more "in the moment" blogger...and life liver.

That is all.

kisses and hugs,
Al

Prisoners on a pedestal

I personally believe the incarcerated shouldn't be placed on a pedestal, (and neither MJ, really)...

BUT this is mind-blowing.



A Philippino Re-Investment Act at work?

Thanks boo ;)

Happiness is...

Laughing so hard you cry, shake, and even snort a few times...

to America's Funniest Home Videos with the fam.

There was a particularly notable segment on windsurf/hangliding/parasailing crash and burning.

(or maybe I just love Bob Saget...the new-er guy is totally lame).



Yeah, that show never gets old.

Objectophilia

If I possessed this syndrome, I would elect for a polyandrous marriage with cities.

Just saying.

Laundromats: the new adorable

Last week, my sister and I took 3 hour Sunday naps that were halfway punctuated by my other sister bringing us fresh cookies out of the oven.

We decided it was the best nap we'd ever had.

Today, I vegged out to good old Regina Spektor...from "two birds on a wire" to "ancient bruises"...ah, she's marvelous.


ALSO. Whether it's the darling Aryan-Euro boy or her luscious dryer lair, I'm kind of in love with this video:


I am no Harry Potter aficionada, but I would submit that she is a Moaning Myrtle laundromat equivalent (in a good way).

Also unrelated but worth a self re-quote,

"Nothing is the new fabulous."

I also hate Christmas, too!

(Kidding).

Okay, so the dislike of murderers, the inexcusably tight-wadded or, say...Massachusetts drivers ("MASSHOLES") is universal.

However, for me, I'm realizing, I dislike some things that most people like, if not, LOVE.

Consider the following grounds to call me a Debbie Downer:


Candy
Except for Trolli Peachie-Os about twice a year (I'm weird), high fructose corn syrup alone is not my kind of sweet fun. I prefer the old school sugar and butter derivatives.


Swings
Yeah, that old childhood park pastime. Well, they make me dizzy and nauseous.

I distinctly remember a kindergarten "Glad/Sad" workbook exercise and marking an image of an elephant swinging as "Sad." I was a sharp little tot, probably bored with such petty exercises and wanting to answer 'truthfully' to stir up some non-conformity.


Soda/Pop
When I tell people I don't drink soda, they usually respond with some kind of form of "Good for you/Oh man, you're so healthy/Wow, I wish I could give it up too."
No, people. Seriously, it's not even for health reasons.
It's simply because I think it tastes like candy (see above) in liquid form, and to top it off, IT BURNS.

Liquid candy + burn factor equals NOT my idea of fun. It continues to shock me how much of an anomaly I am this way. Don't other people see this???!!! Something that tastes rotten and HURTS YOU AS YOU DRINK IT (and I'm not even addressing the osteoporosis).

Might as well have NyQuil or Robitussin- stuff is all the same. The only soda you'll ever see me gag down is half a glass of Ginger Ale on airplane flights (to keep my stomach at ease).


Milk Chocolate
It has to be dark (without lecithin wax filler) or it's not of any interest. You can now see that without candy or any chocolate Hershey or Nestle products, how Halloween ties with Flag Day on my 'fun holidays' list.


Roadtrips
I must preface this by saying that wide open spaces intensely scare me because I conjure some strange grandiose subconscious notion that all civilization will vanish before I've had a chance to return.

So...long periods of time spent staring out at them? My idea of hell!

Oh did I mention I have legs (inseam: 35") and would rather be in bed to do most everything.


Dogs
How could I be so heartless? Well...my first experience with my little neighbor buddy's dog was really traumatizing.
It's name was Mistral. It was seriously hyperactive, bipolar, and also had some kind of vicious ailment like leukemia or something.
Dog was evil.

It was not disciplined properly I guess (but my memories of Mistral also involve my friend's mom yelling at it to stop and chaining it up), so it always jumped up and barked in excess quantity and decibel level. Nasty creature.

(Later, I would find out that 'Mistral' is the name for seasonal winds in Provence, France (like the Santa Anas of Southern California, I think). Well, as you can see, Mistral was the dog equivalent of an unwelcome Santa Ana.)

PLUS: my little sister Katherine was once bit by a dog (Siberian husky). Foul and wrong!

I'm sure if I had a dog like Old Yeller or Lassie, I would feel differently, but honestly, when I see a dog I see 'unnecessary mess' written all over it: unnecessary food going towards an un-eatable specimen who will crap unnecessary feces over MY terrain.

('MY terrain' being the world).

And why in the world would I want to go up and let something that doesn't talk 'sniff my hand'...for all I know, it's going to bite it off!

Help wanted for phobia instigation

I do not understand claustrophobia.
Truly.
I get a rush from huge crowds, I wear full-body blue suits with pep, and think that being sardine packed in a subway is, while not the most hygienic place, at least somewhat cozy.

In fact, I find wide open spaces ominous and scary (I'll explain more tomorrow).

Am I totally weird? Because I feel like everyone I know has some shade of claustrophobia and I'm missing out on some great club in which we can commiserate universally. I feel as though I'm sitting at home, while day after day, my friends attend a party I am not invited to. Please tell a story ("footnote it") below, and perhaps your stories will freak me out enough to develop it.

Yes, I'm asking you to take it upon yourself to help me become claustrophobic.

Thank you!

Kerouac-ian

1) Google Reader: I was stubborn enough to think that another Google creation would not be user friendly enough for me, and was comfortable with mastering the system of clicking on blogs as they updated on my home screen.
Old. School. I know.

But now, as you will see, I have de-cluttered my layout, condensed my link lists and started "following" more than linking. And it's awesome. You can leave Reader open in a tab and it updates like Gmail. Plus, you can "follow" other blogs besides those in the Blogger format and avert all the arthritic-inducing clicking. Win-win. Go Google.

My next project will be AdSense...still a little apathetic-slash-lazy to figure it out.

2) Finished Me Talk Pretty One Day.

From a writer's standpoint, it's a must-read for all the sharp interwoven details. But don't be expecting to be keeling over in "sidesplitting" laughter as all the reviews would have you think. I think my favorite part was Sedaris's commentary on the games he made up to learn French masculine/feminine words (Hey guys [talking to spoons in the drawer]! Well the lady of the night has arrived [about jam in the refrigerator]!).

2a) You know who IS funny? Dooce. But we already knew that (been reading her for, like, 5 years).

3) I said the phrase "stream of consciousness" in a sentence to some cousins who dropped by for a night and one laughed loudly and said, "Did you know Jack Kerouac's "On The Road" was originally published without punctuation because it was precisely that, a 'stream of consciousness.'"

Well, folks...cheah! precisely. Hence the new post label of 'Kerouac.' Hope you like it.