[Ah, Junk]

1.29.12

2012-01-30T01:50:00.000-07:00

She scooted one inch closer to the edge, keeping her body back and her neck craned forward, attempting to see further down the cliff's edge. Sand and small bits of gravel made their way down the gradual slope of the massive rock she was standing on, slipping out of sight and down the impossibly long descent into the canyon. A peachy, yellow color, the wind-worn stone reminded her of a jaundiced child — a jaundiced pirate child, with weathered skin and a scowl.

Her left hand gripped the short lens of a camera, her right hung motionless, except when it instinctively splayed out, fingers wide, a subconscious defense to stop the fulfillment of her morbidly curious thoughts.

"What if I jumped?" The thought flashed to the front of her mind without warning. It surprised her usually overly-cautious, rational self. But more surprising still was her desire to find the answer.

"What if my foot slipped just six inches? There's nothing to grab onto. The rest of me would tumble over in an instant. What would that feel like?" She ran through all the possible ways she could find herself away from the sickly rock-edge, into the clean canyon air, through the biting winds, down to the valley floor. She could jump. Slip. Fall asleep and roll right over. Have someone push her. Handstand somersault.

Would she fall unconscious before striking the ground? Would she flip in the air, completing the cartwheel she could never master on solid ground? Would she hit parts of the canyon walls on her descent? Were there any jutting out to hit?

One more inch she took, eyeing her white rubber soles with intense concentration, almost as if telling them their job of gripping the ground was never more important than at that moment. "I'm only pondering this. I quite like the ground right now," she thought, directing the silent comment down to the inanimate objects around her feet.

"What if I didn't fall?" She continued, considered the possibility of flight. Skydiving was sort of like flying, and she'd been skydiving. "But that's really just falling," she said to herself, remembering the thrill of jumping out of the plane, the sharp air nearly pulling the skin off her bones, her eyes watering and her extremities yanked heavenward as gravity sucked her down to earth. "I want to fly."

Closing her eyes, she lifted her right foot upward ever so slightly. Her arms spread wide, she let the cool gusts of wind swirl around her trunk, twist down her legs, seep into her hair. "I want to fly," she repeated, this time aloud, barely audible even to her ears. She leaned forward, arms still wide, pushing hard off the cliff's edge.

And flew.

Three things prompted this short story. First, traveling to Southern Utah this weekend and getting dangerously close to a cliff's edge (closer, even, than this photograph) 2. Listening to "Peter and the Star Catchers" by Ridley Pearson and Dave Barry and 3. Considering what it would be like to do just the opposite of what instinct tells me to do. Jump off the cliff. Don't turn with the curve of the road. Drink the soured milk. And that's the beauty of imagination and writing: You can make whatever decisions you want, wise or otherwise, from the safety of your desk.

-eg

1.17.12

2012-01-17T22:12:00.003-07:00

Went bouldering today. Ripped off a perfectly good callous on a V0. A V0! And it was no small callous, p.s. It reminded me of rings and monkey bars in second grade and the pride in showing off your mutilated hands. "See this? I got THIS blister yesterday when I skipped two rings." "Yeah, well, I got THIS one just today, when I swung past three monkey bars. THREE! Eat THAT!" (It was a big deal.)

When I got home, Jessica suggested I pour hydrogen peroxide on it, you know, to kill the germs.

"You do it," I said to her, hunched over the bathroom sink, hand hovering over the drain.

"K. Ready?"

As she began to pour the heinous liquid from the brown plastic bottle, I saw it hit my skin. "Hey, this isn't that ba --- OH MY GOSH!"

The next 30 seconds sounded something like this:

"AaaaaAAAAAAHAaaaaahaaaa! OhmygoshItStingssoBad! Make it stop. MakeITSTOP! Aaaaaahahaahhhahahaaaaaaa..."

As any good friend would be, Jessica was bent over, holding her stomach with one hand, covering her mouth with the other, gasping for breath amidst laughter.

I think next time I'll leave the germs be and avoid a repeat of what was one of the most horrific experiences of my life.

1.11.12

2012-01-11T21:23:00.001-07:00

"How do you feel?"

"Limited."

"How so?"

"Socially; for a host of reasons. Spiritually; by my own idleness. Intellectually; well, you know the reasons as well as anyone. And physically; I cannot fly."

"Mmmhmmm. Go on."

"Well, and most apparent is the limitations from this straight jacket. I mean, it is really restrictive. Am I right?"

"So right."

—Conversations with Myself No. 2
by e.gosney

1.4.11

2012-01-03T23:16:00.000-07:00

I realized I've been doing a lot of writing, but I needs some variety. I needs it. So here's some photographs — photographs from my phone, no less (seriously, you can't get much less than the quality of a camera phone) — chronicling the last few weeks. Dang straight.

(The fortune, by the way, says, "Next week at this time, something good is coming your way." That was on Tuesday, Dec. 27, 2011 at 8:30 p.m. On Jan. 3, 2012 at 8:30 p.m. I was sorely disappointed. Serves me right for trusting ambiguous messages hidden in cookies. My psychic warned me about them.)

1.3.11

2012-01-03T17:34:00.001-07:00

"Aiitch-Eee-Double-Hooooly-Crap!"

"That was borderline offensive."

"I'm gonna venture a guess that no one was offended by that."

"No one was offended because no one else is here."

"Too true, my friend. Too true."

"What was your semi-blasphemous exclamation about, by the way?"

"Oh, I scuffed my shoe. I just got them."

"... You are insane."

"You're one to talk."

"... Touche."

— Conversations with Myself, No. 1
by e.gosney

1.2.12

2012-01-02T15:07:00.000-07:00

I had a dream last night that we were walking, you and I, around a large house of white hallways and crown molding. There were doors, too, so many doors.

You spoke to me of days gone by, of details that didn't merit repeating. I searched the faces of the people we passed — modern dancers, barefoot and brightly costumed; old men, smoking cigars, fedoras atop their silvered heads; friends, staring mindlessly into nothingness, headphones fused to their ears. These people did not belong in the house. But it seemed, neither did I.

My chest tightened as you spoke, a frustration and nervousness filled my ribs with lead. I did not want to hear what I already knew, but I waited for you to finish, so I could ask a question.

I never did ask that question.

Your every pause for breath left me scrambling for sentence structure, only opening my mouth to have you fill it with more unwanted words. Every opportunity of an empty hallway was stripped away as a corner was turned to reveal unwelcome faces, peeling away my confidence.

I just wanted to know why.

Awaking from the dream was a relief, to escape the eyes of strangers, the maze of hallways, the ceaseless ramblings pouring from your lips. But as I laid silent, cheek pressed into a cheap, green pillowcase, dissatisfaction surged through my limbs. Why could I not ask it? Why would you not tell me?

And why, why did I not open any of those doors?

So many doors.

-eg

12.31.11

2011-12-31T21:26:00.000-07:00

In the past 48 hours, I have had eight Diet Cokes, two tacos, watched 10 episodes of "Psych," bought new Vans, wrote seven thank you notes, went rock climbing, fell asleep reading scriptures, and talked to myself far too often. — On par with a someone in a padded room, weaving a basket, actually. (Seriously? Talk about the life. I've always wanted a padded room. Oh the possibilities.)

That's what happens when you're in Provo during Christmas break. This town is dead. Indeed, maybe the reason I've been holed up in my apartment for the past two days is because every time I poke my head out the door, I imagine zombies hobbling across the parking lot and the smell of rotting flesh wafting up the three flights of stairs that I have yet to knock out to prevent unwelcome visitors.

I'm going out tonight though, the threat of demon spawn or not. (I really wanted to work in something about "damned if I do" right here, but it just didn't flow. You know, because zombies are damned souls. ... Nevermind.)

I'm going out because it's New Year's Eve and this is the first year in my 24 that I'm not working, sick, or spending it with family. I get the impression that people dress up for this holiday? Glitter, am I right? Yeah. No. I'm wearing my Vans.

New Year. New Year. I also get the impression that people make goals for this holiday? (Wow, that is so accurate: They make them for the holiday and by the time they come out of their alcohol-induced coma, the goals have gone the way of 8-Track players and the guillotine. Although, I'm brainstorming ways to bring the guillotine back. I think crime rates would drop with the that hanging over their heads. Literally.)

Goals. That was the point of this post. (Really, it was.)

I don't have any.

I have plans though. And the goals? Well, if they come, I'll start them then. I have several others in the works, because who says you need a date to improve your life? (As in, a calendar date. Let's not get into relationships right now.)

Plans for 2012:

January -
Climb a 10c
Buy Cath a sweet birthday present

February -
Disneyland

March -
Run the Rex Lee 5K or 10K

April -
Go somewhere. Canada?

May - July
Undecided.

August -
Europe.

Let's be honest, I mainly wanted to write my plans so I could type "Disneyland" and "Europe."

Anyway, I should probably go down another Diet Coke and head off to the party that will either be mad-fun or an awkward, wall-hugging experience. It's up to me, yes?

See ya 2011.

... Prime number. Don't like them prime numbers.

12.30.11

2011-12-31T00:39:00.000-07:00

"You're ... endearing."

"Endearing?" His head protruded out of his neck like that of a senile pigeon. "What does that mean?"

Her head snapped back, chin into neck, mouth pulled downward in a combination of confusion and embarrassment. "It, well, it was intended as a complement. But, well ... "

Swarmed with self-doubt and lost in the ever-impossible arena of the spoken word, she stopped. Seeking relief, she looked at her hands, her feet, back to her hands, then to the man across the road awkwardly getting balloons out of a blue hatchback.

He stared at the side of her head, his mouth gaping slightly. He resembled a freshly killed deer: Silent. Ugly.

"Endearing makes me sound like a child." The dead deer spoke.

Finding her words again, her eyes shot up and over, taking her head with her to face him square-on.

"A child? Yes, I suppose that would be a better description of you after all." Her face began to warm. "Endearing implies adoration, desire — love, even." Her voice began to rise. "Endearing implies kindness. Child-like, well, that can imply an array of things, from the best to the most base. And you —you — you are ..."

She could not say it. She wanted to hate him, to be rid of him, at this moment more than any other, but something was lodged in her chest. It tugged as he walked with her. Tore when he walked away. And kept her, always, from escaping that inexplicable aura that seeped out of his skin and encapsulated the surrounding space.

With her silence came his victory. He shut his mouth, retracted his frame and with a smug chuckle slid his hands into his pockets. "You get so defensive over the silliest things. So I'm a child. I've been called worse."

They began to walk again, he invisibly tugging her along. A rebuttal grew, filling the area behind her eyes and nose. The words pounded inside her face, punching and scratching to be let out. She could not allow it, for if she did, the words would tumble out, jumbled and pathetic.

When she said the original word, he heard a set of nine letters meaning naivety. What she meant was something quite different.

Ah, because it was not just a word.

It was a being. One she sought. Not unlike a soulmate, but not the same. It was what she had hoped he would be. But labeling him as such did not make it so.

It was not just a word, and he was neither the word nor the embodiment of it. He was just a man. A man strapped with self-made blinders to what his world could be. He had once been endearing because of a mysterious intrigue that piqued her interest. He was now a repulsive, maggot-ridden carcass of arrogance and self-righteous delusions.

Turning abruptly, she dislodged the metaphor from her chest. A gasp wisped past her lips as she walked away. He didn't stop, he didn't notice. And although she pretended not to care, she did.

But it was better this way.

12.18.11

2011-12-18T00:55:00.000-07:00

There's a song by The Weepies that goes, "They're in love. Where am I?" When I first heard it, I thought, "Yes! Exactly. That's precisely how I feel." But truth be told, my thoughts most days are more along the lines of, "I'm bored with my life. Who wants to join forces and make things more exciting?"

I think I have a skewed perception of dating and marriage.

Also, I found a piece of writing from a while ago where I started about finances and after a paragraph, ended it with, "Screw you, marriage." It must've been a rough day.

And here's a poem I found near that piece:

13D

by e. gosney

Climb out of bed.

Climb into clothes.

Climb onto my chair.

For eight hours.

Climb around conversations.

And hide.

Climb through another mediocre meal.

And then up a wall.

Literally, if you must know.

Metaphorically if you must not.

On life.

Live on.

12.17.11

2011-12-17T03:01:00.000-07:00

December is the month of family newsletters, of seeing old friends, of awkward family Christmas parties. It's the time when people catch up on each others lives and pretend to care as they talk about their son-the-soccer-player, and their daughter-the-math-genius. It is a time for bragging, but in such a way that no one is called out for being obnoxious, but that's exactly what everyone is secretly thinking about everyone else.

So what do I brag about? No husband. No kids. No blockbuster career. Nothing to invoke those feelings of, "Gosh she's obnoxious," from anyone. More likely I get pity, which just won't do.

So I'm a church calling-dropper.

You know, like name-dropping. "I met Elder Nelson in the airport." "Oh yeah? Pres. Eyring came to my FHE." "No way. Well Pres. Monson AND Pres. Uchtdorf came to my house for dinner last week and complimented my crescent rolls."

(Not to brag, but I DID shake Elder Scott's hand when I was 14. Just saying.)

So, I decided to mention my calling when put in situations where I feel the need to compete for the "Who's Life is of More Worth" award. This mostly happens with semi-friends and old acquaintances that I run into at the grocery store, bridal showers, donating blood — you know, the regular hangouts. "Oh, fun, you're celebrating your two-and-three-quarter month wedding anniversary? That's nice. I would've come to your party, but I was in a meeting with the Stake Presidency because I'm the Relief Society president. Yeah, being the Relief Society president can make things busy, but I love being the Relief Society president. It's the best. You know, being the Relief Society president."

That's right, I've got something to brag about too, Miss My-Life-Is-Seemingly-So-Perfect-With-My-Perfectly-Curled-Hair-and-Perfect-Engineer-Husband-with-a-Perfect-1988-Toyota-Camry-and-No-Student-Loan-Debt.

Shutchyomouth.

I've only done it a couple times so far, but it seems effective. I mean, everyone gets married, but how many people are Relief Society president? ... Yeah, that's what I thought.

I'll have to try it out when I get released and called as Ward Greeter. "It's a tough job," I'll say, "But someone's got to do it." And then they'll be all like, "... Wow, my life is crap."

That's the goal: Boost yourself up by devaluing others.

-eg

12.12.11

2011-12-12T18:18:00.001-07:00

There is no cure like laughter. Hard, loud, gasping-for-air kind of laughter. Tears clouding your vision, jaw hurting, body shaking.

It kind of sounds like hysterically crying, doesn't it?

But laughter is, well, better. To state the obvious.

Crying has it's place. But laughter? Laughter is always acceptable.

(Well, not always, but you get the idea.)

I always seem to laugh harder after crying. I laugh truer. My body, purged of sadness, has nothing to expel except joy.

And there's so much to be joyful about.

12.11.11

2011-12-11T23:07:00.001-07:00

Sometimes you put hand sanitizer on your weather-cracked hands.

Sometimes flights are canceled. Twice.

Sometimes Diet Coke doesn't cure the headache.

Sometimes relationships end before they begin.

And, well, that's just how life is.

But hand sanitizer still disinfects.

You still get to where you're going. Eventually.

Diet Coke still tastes good. Headache or not.

And there is always that hope for the future.

To try again. To find someone new. To carry on.

And to laugh.

It doesn't take away the blow to the chest. The gasping as self-deprecating thoughts run rampant in my head. That frustration that no matter how hard I try, it's just not enough.

No, those things are still there. But that hope, it allows breath between the blows.

The gasps turn to laughter, bringing rational thought.

And amidst the beating-my-head-against-a-brick-wall frustration, I know someday it will be enough.

12.7.11

2011-12-07T22:55:00.001-07:00

It's my birthday tomorrow. The big 24. I'm glad. 23 is a prime number, and prime numbers have always scared me.

I listened to a song recently, and I could've sworn it was by Jamie Cullum, and he talks about being 23. I wanted to post the lyrics, because as I listened they were so comically true. But now I can't find the song, and although I'd be tempted to write what is so comically true at age 23 in my own words, it's late. And it'll still be true at 24.

Life is good, you know?

(It seems I haven't always been scared of prime numbers, judging from last year's post about turning 23.)

11.26.11

2011-11-27T00:09:00.001-07:00

Grateful for:
General Conference issue of the Ensign
Sunshine and crunchy leaves
Playing the piano
Telling stories
One more day of vacation
Birthday card from Grandma
The future

***

This week, for the first time, I didn't see anyone from my immediate family on Thanksgiving.

This week, for the first time, I made myself throw up. It's harder than it seems, but it was necessary. Believe me. It was.

This week, for the first time, I watched a football game by myself between two teams I didn't care about. (Ohio and Michigan. Michigan won, by the way.)

This week, for the first time, I didn't honk at anyone while driving. No one. Not even the moron who cut me off on the freeway and made me slam on the brakes.

This week, for the first time, I cried during a car commercial.

This week, for the who-knows-how-many-times-it's-been, I decided to be happy regardless. Regardless of what others do, or don't do. Regardless of what my life is, or isn't. It's harder than it seems, but it's necessary. It's worth it.

It is.

11.22.11

2011-11-22T20:57:00.001-07:00

Have you ever wanted so badly to be sick that you made yourself so?

Odd, I guess, to want to be sick.

But Sunday night that's all I wanted. To be sick so I could stay home in bed, sleeping away the hours and shutting out the responsibilities of grown-up-hood.

It took a little longer than I had anticipated, but by Monday afternoon, I was sick.

Headache, sore throat, running nose. The whole bit.

So I came home and did nothing. Just looked pathetic and relished the occasional, "You OK?" from my roommates.

Because I wasn't not OK, but I wasn't good, either. And the attention, well, the attention felt good.

This morning I tried to wake up but knew it was a lost cause. So I texted my boss (yes, that's how cool my boss is) and told him I'm be late. I needed the medicine to kick in. He texted back, "Hope you feel better." (Like I said, really cool boss.)

So I got what I wanted — 1/4 of a sick day, extra sleep, a little bit of attention, an excuse not to do my makeup and hair to the full extent of acceptability in the work place — and now I feel better. Top notch, actually. (Rock climbing followed by a hot shower is one heck of a cure, let me tell you.)

I guess I wanted to write about this whole making-myself-sick thing because I am amazed at the power of thought. The power of our minds to control our bodies. The power of our desires almost always turning into real life.

The pen is mightier than the sword.

The mind is greater than the body.

Spirituality is greater than carnality.

Is this insight new? No. Is it comforting, liberating, uninteresting, exciting, life-changing? I don't know. For now, I guess, it's just there.

(And, yes, I made up the word "carnality.")

-eg

11.21.11

2011-11-21T19:25:00.001-07:00

I think the best part of keeping a journal and writing a blog is being able to go back and see where you were. Today I went back to November 2009, and I found a little gem that I wrote that I think is worth posting again. Coincidentally, it was exactly two years ago, to the day. Not so coincidentally, I still feel the same.

11.21.09

"Everything makes sense when you're with me."
—Relient K, "Savannah"

I've never been to Europe, but when I think about my future, I have this romanticized vision of living in Europe. Or at least somewhere with a very European feel -- I guess just about anywhere but the cinder block apartment complex I live now. I don't know where this feeling has come from. Maybe too many Jane Austen movies, too many Michael Buble and Jamie Cullum albums, maybe too many years of dreaming and planning and so little doing. In my head there is a daydream playing on repeat, of white-washed walls and yellow dishes. Of corner markets and mom & pop shops. Of a journal full of more answers than of questions. Of not flying solo, but of having someone to share my laughter with, my dessert, my laundry detergent. This doesn't sound very European, does it? But maybe because both things are foreign to me, Europe and my future life, my mind has combined both together. And both are things I'd sure like to have.

So, Europe, I'll get there someday. And you, whoever you are, we're gonna share a really good life. Laundry detergent and all.

-eg

11.20.11

2011-11-20T18:59:00.001-07:00

It's an interesting concept, loneliness. I am never really alone — surrounded by friends, co-workers, strangers at the grocery store, the occasional family member — yet I classify myself as such more often than not. Sometimes out of sorrow, sometimes out of delight (have you ever gone to a movie by yourself? Awesome.)

And what's more, every person that classifies them self as alone, as lonely, feels as if they're the only one. And yet, I know better. Everyone does. I am one of billions of people that feels that isolation, the seclusion, the abyss that is loneliness.

That realization does nothing to soothe the sting.

Each has their own brand of loneliness, specially formulated to prick, to crush, to suffocate, to slash, to tear and burn and strangle the life from their frame. No one is alone is feeling lonely (irony, is it not?) but each is alone in their uniquely cruel solitude.

I'm not especially lonely right now, more just pensive. I found several scraps of poems I started more than a year ago on the subject of being alone, each one with strong imagery and no ending. That, in itself is an allusion to loneliness — potent, and seemingly without end.

I want to post some of what I wrote, for no other reason than to share the imagery of loneliness. My own brand of loneliness, from July 2010.

#1
I've heard someone say they were suffocating in loneliness.
But I find it hard to suffocate in nothingness.

#2
The loneliness is maddening
It is relentless
It is without end.
Comparing it to suffocation is not
enough, for it does not kill,
It only ages.
It ages me. I feel my face clenching back like a vacuum pack sealer.
It will not release me.
I am aging alone.
It isn't painful. It is —
What do the doctors say?
— Uncomfortable.
It presses on my chest without,
while the [end]

#3
I am bloated with loneliness.
The pressure builds, pushing my stomach out,
My pants cut into my flesh.

#4
Loneliness is a Texas summer.
Humid.
Hotter than description.
Barren in brown.

Loneliness is being bloated.
Gas pushing the pants into my flesh.

Loneliness is an imbedded tic.
There, but good for nothing.
There. Sucking life.

Loneliness is who I've become.

I wanted to find myself.
I never wanted to find myself alone.

Words of Wisdom from Elizabeth: Part I

2011-11-10T21:18:00.001-07:00

Always have clean ears. You never know when you'll be offered to share ear buds with a cute boy. (Thanks for teaching me good hygiene, Mom.)

I enjoy whistling as much as the next guy, but there's a time and place for it. And in a shared office in the work place is not one of them.

Don't lick foil containers. It doesn't matter how good the Laughing Cow cheese is. Or the yogurt. Don't do it. You're tongue will thank you.

Don't add celebrities — local ones or world-famous — as friends on Facebook unless you actually know them. It's just sad.

"Thank you" is always a good comeback. You will always sounds polite, even if you're also sounding condescending For example, if someone was to sarcastically say, "Wow, thanks for screwing that whole project up." You can say in return, "No, thank YOOUU."

-eg

11.8.11

2011-11-08T23:12:00.001-07:00

"This lint ball and this lint ball, they are like racial diversity," she said aloud to herself, raising one hand and then the other, each containing a freshly scooped wad of lint from two dryers. "One is light, one is dark, but they're both made of fabric particles. It's like I'm holding the whole world in my hands."

"That was messed up, dude." She started as a long-legged man across the room replied to her analysis.

"Yeah. Yeah I guess it was. But I'm kind of right, right?"

"No."

And with that, he placed two quarters on the nearest washing machine and walked out the door.

-eg

11.2.11

2011-11-02T23:02:00.003-06:00

Here's a snippet of what I've been up to the past couple weeks. Or, at least what I have photos of.

Last day of work at the Daily Herald. That's Joseph, Sara and me. I miss them.

Here's what I looked like as Ferb during the tri-ward Halloween activity. Seriously, people thought I was the Joker? Really? So sad. I guess no one my age watches Disney Channel. No one single, and my age, that is.

We attempted the corn maze at HeeHaw Farms. It was stinkin' cold, dark, and we didn't really understand how the whole thing was structured (the start and finish were at the same spot?) so we kinda didn't complete it. But hey, it was fun, and that's what matters. [Jessica, Telisha, me and Ethan.]

Jessica and Telisha at J's cousin's house. We ate doughnuts and explored his sweet house, full of thrift-store/antique shop items from all over the world and from every era. It was so cool.

I opted to dress as Deb from "Napoleon Dynamite" so as to not be confused for the Joker again. (I had Jessica add a Napoleon-heart "tattoo" on my arm to complete the look.) Oh, and I know Deb doesn't wear glasses, but I didn't have my contacts and I didn't want to be blind the whole night. Sorry.

And finally, we had a Halloween-themed dinner on Sunday night. Monster apples, skull-ice punch, mummy pigs in a blanket, dirt cups for dessert. So good. [Josh, Nicole, Justin and Stefany.]

So there you go. This doesn't include the rock climbing I've been doing twice a week with Jessica. So. Fun. My arms are sore, but they are getting buff, and my hands are slowly but surely building calluses. Ah man, there's something so awesome about using your own strength to conquer a precipice. It brings a feeling of accomplishment like no other. It adds another thrill to the concept of progression. Spiritual, intellectual, physical progression. Forever. Shoot dang, it's exciting to know we have unlimited potential.

P.S. I'm falling in love with scrapbooking supplies and I don't even scrapbook. Yikes. Thanks, new job!

10.30.11

2011-10-30T23:49:00.000-06:00

I am two weeks behind in my journaling, I failed to plan a real Halloween costume more than 2 hours in advance of the parties I went to, I haven't folded my laundry in a week, and my bed doesn't remember ever being made, among other things.

And, most bothersome of all, I cannot recall when I last pondered. Yes, in the spiritual sense about the Good Word, but I'm talking about pondering my life. Me. My brain, my personality, my reactions and lack of reactions. I haven't had a chance in some time to just breathe. To not feel rushed. To not feel stressed about getting to bed. To just be still.

Not that I'm dissatisfied with life right now. On the contrary, it is bursting at the seams with wonderful things. But that's also the reason I can't catch my breath. There's always something to knock it out of me again.

No, let me rephrase that.

There always the next thing that takes my breath away.

(Holy, cliche.)

But it's true. I'm suffocating in wonder. Just imagine it the contradicting image: Me gasping for air as I fly through life in awe of the opportunities given to me.

I'm choking on blessings.

Tonight, I recognized the blessings, but I then caught a glimpse of myself. Of losing myself. My face was turning blue and I was disappearing into the abyss of activities, hobbies and social events. Where was Elizabeth in all this? Not just her body, not just her laughter, but HER. Her mind, her thoughts, her opinions, her, yes, wisdom. I saw her shell, what the world perceives at first glance, but there is so much more and I was losing sight of it, of how to cultivate it, of how amazing it is to know myself beyond the party, the sporting event, the game night.

So this is me stopping. Breathing. Deep, full, loud, the-doctor-has-a-stethoscope-to-my-chest kind of breathing.

I don't have anything profound to say in my pondering, but that's not the point, is it?

No, no it is not.

10.20.11

2011-10-20T21:59:00.000-06:00

Oh hey. I posted some pictures on my photography blog. That'll tie (tide?) you over until I can post about ... stuff. I hesitated because there's really nothing to say. (Ah, but Elizabeth always has something to say! ... No, wait, no I don't.)

Peace.

10.9.11

2011-10-09T01:33:00.002-06:00

Some thoughts:

~ Sometimes I want a guy that looks like Clark Kent, gelled hair, thick glasses, big muscles and all. But I'd take (an older) Squints Palledorous any day, as long as he makes me laugh and holds me close. That's my Super Man.

~ Have you ever been asked, "If you had $X extra a month, what would you do with it?" Well, I finally have the opportunity to try that out. This new job is a blessing in so many ways — better hours, better environment, new experiences and challenges, opportunities to use more skills — but the weirdest one is the better pay. I'm used to living on a certain amount, and it's been just fine. Now I have more to live on, and I have to decide how to use it, or, more wisely, how to save it. What will I do with the extra $X a month? Save up for a trip to Europe. Pay off my loans. Buy an iPhone. Contribute to my 401k and open a Roth IRA account (Devon: Help?), buy Christmas presents for my family (I love buying presents for people), and save more in general. Because someday I'll get married. And someday I'll have kids. And someday I'll buy a house. And that someday will be so much better when I know we have money in the bank. Money doesn't buy happiness, but it brings a certain peace of mind. At least for me.

~ What's it like to have a guy as your best friend growing up? What's it like to go to senior prom? What's it like to graduate with your class and throw your cap in the air? What's it like to go home on Christmas break and see old friends as well as your family? What's it like to study abroad? I don't know. And usually it doesn't bug me. Usually I don't think about it at all. But sometimes I wish I knew, because it seems everyone else does, and I'm missing out. Or missed out. I'm just curious. Not regretful, just curious.

~ I'm really good at Guitar Hero on my iPod Touch. Just saying. I love playing Vampire Weekend songs.

(Cath, you'll like this one. Ha ha ha.)

10.8.11

2011-10-09T00:52:00.001-06:00

It turns out, I got just about as much sleep at Deon's in New Mexico as I did last week and this, working 15-hour days. But New Mexico was WAY more fun. Seriously, I loved being there with Deon and her boys. Here's what we did:

Jumped off the fireplace, the couch, the mini-trampoline onto a mountain of pillows.

Went to the Balloon Fiesta. So cool! (And so early. Ha ha.)

"The line for the Storm Trooper is kinda long. ... HEY! No one's getting a picture with the freaky guy. Let's get a picture with him!"

Then we went to Conner's soccer game. They played hard, or at least Conner did. But sometimes hard work just doesn't pay off. Sorry kids. Ha ha, Conner's team lost. Badly.

Max, searching Deon's hair for bugs.

Scotty got bored, obviously.

I took some family photos for Deon and Dillan, much to Dillan's displeasure. He survived though. ;o)

Word.

Conner and Scotty know Kid History, so this is Conner acting out the last part of the 6th episode when Richard (I can't remember his character's name in that episode) drinks the juice and spits it out, screaming. It was hilarious to hear Scotty and Conner, without any prompting, say, "I like yeyo gwapes. And puyple gwapes. And wed gwapes."

Don't you love Scotty's hat and vest? I do.

Playing on Monday...

Deon and me had a movie marathon on Monday night (that's what happens when you don't know what you're doing when reserving Redbox movies online and end up with 3 instead of 1 or 2). Then Tuesday morning, before I flew back to Salt Lake, we went to breakfast/lunch (I believe they call it "brunch") at Flying Star. Suuuuuuuper good. Super.

And there you have it. Other than this stellar trip, I have been, like I said, working really long days and squeezing in some sleep here and there. Oh, and food. Gotta have da foods.

Wanna know how little time I have? Yesterday I bought more underwear because I was out and didn't have time to do laundry, nor would I, I knew, for a few more days. Yikes. Is this what they call "TMI"? ... Nah.

9.29.11

2011-09-30T00:12:00.001-06:00

I just got done working four, 15-hour days straight. I'm pretty haggard. But tomorrow I fly to New Mexico! So it was all worth it. (And the fatty paycheck will make it worth it, too.)

There are lots of things I could say about my new job (about how awesome it is and how blessed I am to have landed it) but here's what'll interest you the most: Giveaways!

So, here's the links to the three giveaways my new company (as in, the new company I work for) is sponsoring. All you have to do is comment and you're entered. The stuff they're giving away is pretty shweet, believe me, so I think it's worth the 3 seconds to comment. And if you win and don't want it, I'll take it! :o)

Way cute, right? This is some of the Chap paper.

p.s. The corners of each page show what the back looks like, and that little strip is on the back as well, on the edge.

(Image via AmericanCrafts.typepad.com)

9.23.11

2011-09-23T15:35:00.002-06:00

New job? Don't mind if I do.

Last week, it was Tuesday, I was searching on the BYU alumni career placement website, more out of curiosity than anything, and found a posting for a Marketing Assistant at American Crafts. I figured I was pretty much exactly what they were looking for, so I applied. The next day I got a phone call, then an interview, and after a week of waiting (after the thank-you-email and follow-up-phone-call were done) and finally resigning myself to the fact that I didn't get the job, I got a call yesterday morning.

Yes, that's right, I got a new job.

(If you didn't gather as much from my opening sentence, then, well, you have other problems that we can talk about later.)

I started today, actually. Which means I'll be working two jobs for the next two weeks. 15+ hour days. I think I might die, but if I don't, it'll be worth it.

Here's the company's blog — they are a scrapbooking supply company. http://americancrafts.typepad.com/

Don't get your hopes up on getting free paper, pens and ribbons (Kelsey) but you never know. Ha ha.

Oh, by the way, I'm SUPER-DUPER excited. Super-duper. :o)

9.16.11

2011-09-17T03:20:00.001-06:00

She wasn't used to flirting. It was a foreign language that she could not grasp. Yet all around her they spoke it, fluently, using any and every part of their body to convey the message, while she sat dumbly on the side, watching in awe and disgust their ability to ensnare.

He didn't know the language either, that man amidst the boys. He spoke little, but when he did it was something from a story book: neither mundane, nor profound. Familiar, and magical in a sense. It was comfortable, too. And laced with a mysteriousness and a childlike innocence.

He exuded relaxation in everything he did, just as the flirters exuded a putrid shallowness in all they did. His mere presence calmed her raw nerves, allowed her to focus in a room full of fool's gold and parlor tricks.

From her station at the side of the group, she searched his face — how he smiled often, with all his teeth, but laughed only when something truly merited it. How he craned his neck forward as something of use was said, and how his eyes wandered as the conversation dipped into worthlessness.

He was intriguing to her; a quiet, almost invisible gem amidst a sea of volcanic pumice. He was odd, she thought, but oddity was a welcome change. A wanted change. For she, too, was odd.

Once or twice his eyes locked to hers. Embarrassed to be caught in her silent study and ignorant of how to act, her eyes flicked down to her feet, her head turning to the side. It was a defense, that head turn, as if by baring the right side of her face she hid the true emotion spread across the left.

She hoped he'd realize she was different like him, that she was channeling all her thoughts toward penetrating the fog of insincerity that choked their surroundings. If only he'd look around and see her realism that contrasted all the impressionists.

Time will tell, she thought. And he, well, he seemed worth some time.

© e.gosney 2011

9.15.11 #2

2011-09-15T12:05:00.001-06:00

These lyrics aren't very happy, yet they make me smile. Probably because they're true. And probably because I know they won't always be.

"But now I look at love
Like being stabbed in the heart
You torture each other from day to day
And then one day you part
Most of the time it's misery
But there's some joy at the start
And for that, I'd say it's worth it
Just as you play the shortest sharp on me

And if love is just a game
Then how come it's no fun?
If love is just a game
How come I've never won?
I guess maybe it's possible I might be playing it wrong
And that's why every time I roll the dice I always come undone"

—Noah and the Whale, "2 Atoms in a Molecule"

9.15.11

2011-09-15T01:34:00.002-06:00

I had a dream that my friend's boyfriend left her for me. I should've been stricken with remorse, set on denying the scum my love. But no, in my dream I just went with it, enjoying the attention, the conquest, of sorts. It was only AFTER I realized he couldn't marry me in the temple that I went to my friend, apologizing for any hurt feelings, swearing I never meant to betray her trust. I still woke up feeling both confident in my allure, and guilty for being such a crappy friend.

It's funny how dreams reveal truths about yourself. Not that I've ever stolen anyone's boyfriend, but I have done things I'm not proud of purely out of self-interest. Selfishness. Machiavelli was right in many ways: We are selfish beings bent on getting ahead by stepping on those around us. Sad but true. (The truth often is sad, isn't it?)

Man is that way. The "natural man" anyway. A survivalist. A capitalist? But the natural man is not the ultimate. Not hardly. Oh if only Mr. Machiavelli had the gospel.

But then again, he might not be famous then, and his name is so fun to say.Eh, we win some, we lose some.

9.12.11

2011-09-12T23:37:00.000-06:00

Don't ask to be taught patience. It doesn't end well.

Well, not for me anyway.

At least three times in the last three days I've be encountered with a trying situation and in response, reacted poorly. But it's only after the fact, after I've shot my mouth off or been rude or something, that I realize, "Oooooh, that was a test of my patience, wasn't it?"

Heavenly Father is a tricky one, he is.

And currently my grade is an F.

9.8.11

2011-09-09T01:58:00.001-06:00

More photographs in good ol' black and white at ahjunkphotography.blogspot.com. Lucky you, right? Right.

They say that when one door closes another opens. But I've found that's often not the case at all. Sometimes all the doors are closed and you are left staring at walls. Panic arises as the claustrophobia sets in.

Then there are the times when several doors open at the same time and it's up to you to choose which one to go through.

And then it seems, there's those times when we are asked to close a door, and we are asked to open another, because life is tired of doing all the work for us and we are capable of making opportunities for ourselves, of venturing forth without seeking permission or waiting for anyone to do any opening or closing.

Those times are scary, maybe the scariest I've encountered, but they are also the most rewarding. The most liberating. They force me to grow up, branch out, dig deep and reflect long on this thing we have all been given.

This life.

-eg

9.5.11

2011-09-05T23:23:00.000-06:00

You know those people who eat what's in front of them just because it's there? If you know me, then your answer would be yes. Like today, there was a box of Junior Mints on my desk, left over from a movie I went to (with Kathy and Anna — "The Help," which was very good, by the way). I didn't particularly want them, but I ate a couple because they were there. They were convenient. And it was a subconscious action, really. "What's this? Another is going in my mouth? Well, OK, why not." Twenty Junior Mints later — or maybe 30, who knows — I sit, sick and regretful.

So can this be applied to people and relationships? I submit that it can. I have seen people date another just because they are there. It's convenient. It's not really thought out, it's just a subconscious action of beginning a relationship out of, well, ease. Not that relationships are easy, but the act of getting into one can be. If one isn't careful. If one is not paying attention. And then, twenty or thirty Junior Mints later, you realize what you've got yourself into and there is regret. A little bit of panic. A lot of wishing you could rewind.

Me, well, I may eat Junior Mints like they're going out of style (in the literal sense), but I'm not one to get into convenient relationships. (Or any, for that matter, but let's not talk about that.) I'd rather not have the regret. I like to think things out. Think things to death, really. Think about things so much that I'm not sure what to do with all the thoughts.

Not this time, though. I know what to do with the thoughts. And I'm stopping the Junior Mint eating now, before it has even begun, come to think of it. The thing is, though, thoughts are easy to come by. It's the actions that follow that can be so excruciatingly hard. (Is that a word, excruciatingly?)

So there you have it. I don't want to just go for it, because I know better. I know the Junior Mints won't be worth it in the end. I know I can't act out of convenience or ease. I'm not going to eat the Junior Mints just because they're there. You know why? Because I know what I want. And it's not the Junior Mints. And I don't think there's anything wrong with that.

So now the question is, how do I tell the Junior Mints I don't see a future with them?

8.28.11

2011-08-29T00:13:00.002-06:00

So, you know that dream post and the other post saying I couldn't explain the dream post? (You should know, cuz, uh, they're right below this one). Here's the explanation:

Relief Society president

Any advice would be appreciated.

I've never felt so excited, overwhelmed, intimidated, responsible and confident in my whole life. How can I be so many things at the same time? Ha ha, oh yeah, I'm a girl.

I know I won't be alone in this calling. Already I have felt the support of my family, friends and the bishopric. Most importantly, I've felt a calming assurance amid the chaos of my mind that everything'll be great. Not just OK, but great. And it comes not from myself or any earthly source, but from my Heavenly Father. Already He is making it clear that whom He calls, He qualifies.

I'm not alone in this. What an amazing thing.

And may I point out, you are not alone. In any struggle, trial, heartache or chaos you're going through, you're not alone. If only more people knew this and understood it. Life would be that much less hard.

So, here's goes ... something.

8.26.11

2011-08-26T04:28:00.000-06:00

So, I realized it probably wouldn't be appropriate to post the explanation for my dream-post tonight. It'll have to wait until Sunday, when it's all official. (So, take this as a hint: I'm not speaking of relationships, but rather a church calling. Sorry, Kels.) But it's a good one. I'm sure I'll be asking for advice as well.

In other news, I decided to be a big kid and buy a housing contract sans roommate — as in, room-roommate. As in, I have my own room. I quite like it, especially because I went a step further and decided to ditch the poster and vinyl (records) decorations and go for a big-kid decor choice. Yes, that even includes curtains. Wowzah. Here's what I came up with:

Bookshelf, framed photographs, home-made curtains (without the help of a sewing machine. Let me tell you, a sewing machine would've been much better), pillow shams (psh, I totally sleep on them. Take that, Martha Stewart!), and a "down alternative" comforter with a white duvet cover because, let's face it, this will be the only time I can justify having something white in my house until my kids are grown and I'm 65. Oh and see that quilt? Catherine made it and it was actually the inspiration for my color choices for the rest of the room. What can I say, she's pretty awesome.

See the second book shelf from the bottom? I left most of my books in Texas, so to fill the space I put these babies on it. Let's just hope no one breaks into my apartment because I will have made their job easier.

And this doesn't include my Pentax Superprogram 35mm (I put it on the top shelf, in case you were wondering), or the Samsung TL500 I'm using to take this photo. I know what you're thinking: obsessed. And, yeah, I guess you're right.

Last night we went 80's dancing in Salt Lake. Other than the nasty smoke and all the crazies bumping and grinding, it was awesome! Plus, no slow songs, which meant we danced our hardest without the constant fear that the next song would require touching someone's hand, waste, shoulder, etc. For reals, if girls were like boys at stake dances and didn't care about sweating: one, we'd all have a much better time, and two, boys probably wouldn't be so self-conscious about perspiring. Am I right?

Here we are after leaving at 2 a.m. — the last song of the night was "Mr. Roboto," which was perfect.

Dustin, Justin, Rachel, Kelsey, Beatrice, Simon, Jessica, Josh, me. (And let me point out my dance pants. That makes the FOURTH time I've been able to legitimately wear them in the past 3 months, plus I let someone borrow them once. Ha! See, it was a good investment Cath. And you doubted me.)

Kelsey, Jessica and me, with Simon and Josh being dorks in the background.

Dustin, Justin and Josh.

Ah, and one more thing I forgot to post earlier — IHOP at 1 a.m. last week. It was a blast, although I have to be careful at 24/365 breakfast places: That sausage will be the death of me.

"Yente," "The Killer," and "The Seducer"

(I have another nickname, but it always gets odd, slightly angry, looks when said. So we're gonna stick with the slightly less odd one here.)

Ba ha ha ha ha. Jessica cracks me up. She really is an attractive girl.

So there you have it. My life for the past week. Pretty awesome, I know.

P.S. I'm not in favor of all my family moving away from Provo. First Devon, then Deon, next Kelsey, and now Thomas, AND Heather? What the heck. Luckily I have some good friends now, or else I'd be pretty miserable. (Not that I'm NOT miserable without all of you. Cuz I am. Positively wretched.)

"Those who bring sunshine to the lives of others cannot keep it from themselves."

—J.M. Barrie

Thanks for the sunshine, muchachos.

8.21.11

2011-08-21T23:44:00.000-06:00

I had a dream last night that I was standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to jump into the deep blue water below. Not too strange, I suppose, but suddenly the cliff became a mountain, and I was in a plane flying above the mountain and I was supposed to jump into not crystal blue water, but the ocean, which was gray and choppy. The best way to describe my reaction was simply that I freaked out, jumping back from the edge of the plane and grabbing onto a hand rail (do they have hand rails in planes?) Another person jumped out in front of me, not even acknowledging my presence, which I was thankful for.

Then suddenly, because it seems everything in dreams is sudden, I was on the ground, watching the person plunge into the water, curving their body gracefully into a perfect dive. But it was no longer the ocean, and there was no mountain or cliff. It was just a diving board at a public pool, maybe 15 feet up, and the water was a clear light blue. I was shocked — both by the sudden change in scenery as well as the very apparent lack of chlorine smell — and at the same time, I understood. It all made sense to my dream-self. Of course it was just a pool. I didn't have anything to be afraid of. Even if I didn't know exactly how to dive, it wasn't that high up and I had people in front to follow and people behind to encourage me. It was so obvious, so natural, so un-frightening. My chest relaxed, I let out all the air I'd been holding in, my jaw loosened and I was at peace.

I didn't realize how metaphoric this dream would become to me — how applicable to my non-dream self — less than 12 hours later.

I'll let you know more come Thursday night.

Crater Lake, Oregon

8.19.11

2011-08-20T00:24:00.002-06:00

Yesterday me and Kyle and Jessica went to the Provo library to see Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson. They're authors. Good ones. Diverse ones — as in, they're writing, not they themselves, seeing as they're both white, middle-aged, American men. Barry was a nationally syndicated humor columnist. Pearson a murder-mystery novelist. Together they wrote the "Peter and the Starcatchers" series, a collection of five books that explore Peter Pan, Wendy, Capt. Hook and Never Land.

That's why they came to Provo, to speak about the fifth book in the series. I confess, I've only read the first one, but I've admired Dave Barry from a young age — I even give him partial credit for my becoming a journalist — and didn't want to miss the chance to see him in person.

So, there's the introduction to the point of this post: #8 on my List of Things to Do Before I Die is complete. I met Dave Barry. And he is, in my book, "worldly" famous.

Can I tell you the story of what happened when I met him? OK, thanks.

After they spoke, Pearson and Barry went downstairs and 20 people at a time followed to have their books signed. I was in the fourth group, so I waited a few minutes, during which time I said goodbye to Jessica and Kyle since they had no books to have signed, nor a strong desire to shake the authors' hands.

So there I was, all by my lonesome, three novels under my arm and a camera in my hand. I got in line, where I contemplated what I would have them write in the books.

"To Elizabeth." Nuh-uh, too boring.

"To Elizabeth, our #1 fan." Nope. Both false and arrogant.

"Keep it real." Uh, no.

By this time I was half way through the line and I could hear other fans saying things to the authors like, "I just loved your books," and "My son used to hate reading but now he reads all the time because of you," and more incredibly touching, sincere garbage. I tried to take some pictures through the line, but people were not willing to get out of my way. Rude.

Finally it was my turn. I handed my books to Dave Barry. Yes, the Dave Barry and smiled.

"Hi. Nice to meet you," he said.

"Hi," I said in return, shaking his hand. (He has a weak handshake, by the way. But, then again, he's left handed, so his right hand doesn't get as much exercise, right?)

Closing the covers of the books, he passed them on to Pearson and said, "Thanks for coming."

I smiled, no doubt awkwardly, and mumbled something like, "Oh. Yeah. Uh, no problem."

Awesome.

Ridley Pearson shook my hand next and said about the same thing as his co-author.

"Hi," I said, staring at his curly gray hair and top-rimmed glasses like he was, well, a famous person that I had nothing to say to.

He smiled hesitantly back, as if he was saying, "Wow, I've seen some weird fans before, but seriously, hun, you're creeping me out."

I'm not sure if it was your stereotypical star-struck moment, or actually my concerted effort not to be star-struck, that resulted in my horrifically stupid encounter with two famous authors. I so wanted to tell Dave Barry that he was a childhood hero of mine. But it sounded pretty ridiculous in my head.

"Stho, uh, Dave, I am, like, a sthuper big fan of yoursth. Sthuper."

So I opted for the freaky stare.

Oh, and to top it all off, Ridley Pearson says to me, as he hands me my books, "Would you like to take a picture?" Undoubtedly thinking to himself, "Please say no, you weirdo. You're really creeping me out."

I'd forgotten about the camera in my hand, but was glad he reminded me. I mechanically handed it to the girl next to me in line, hoping she was capable of such a big responsibility and forgetting I didn't know her, and stepped behind the desk to pose between Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson. Two famous authors.

So, in the end, I did it. I met two famous people and even got a picture to prove it. So all the shameful tongue-tied idiocy was worth it.

Ridley Pearson, me, Dave Barry

P.S. Ridley Pearson has also written a series of books called "The Kingdom Keepers" about five teenagers that have adventures in Walt Disney World after it's closed at night. It's for young readers, but I bought the first one anyway, and it's pretty fun. Especially if you love the Disneyland parks.

P.P.S. I didn't have them write anything in the books in the end. I just had them sign them. I figure I can now sell them or give them away as gifts if I wanted. :o)

8.17.11

2011-08-18T00:57:00.000-06:00

I went REAL rock climbing today. #25 on my list of Things to Do Before I Die is complete, thank you very much. I also discovered I have the same shoe size as Kyle and bigger thighs. Or as I like to call them, "Childbearing hips." Kinda makes it sound better, right? I thought so.

P.S. I'm bad at rock climbing, regardless of the venue.

We went in Rock Canyon. One of the last times I was there was with Krystin Anderson. We bouldered, which, looking back, was really stupid and I'm surprised I didn't die.

Like I said, stuuuupid. But it was fun, and it made fore some good pictures. And since I didn't bring my camera today — you know, when we had ropes and harnesses and common sense — these will have to do.

8.15.11

2011-08-16T00:48:00.000-06:00

I'm learning.

To give it a try.

How can I know if it will work or not if I don't give it a try?

I think that's acceptable.

8.14.11

2011-08-15T00:26:00.000-06:00

I just got back from a family reunion in Oregon. It was quite fun. Obviously.

8.4.11

2011-08-05T00:21:00.000-06:00

I was trying to come up with an analogy for love the other day, because you know, that's what all the cool kids are doing.

For me it's like ice blocking.

Have you ever gone ice blocking? You buy a huge blog of ice from the grocery store for a dollar, take it to a hill, put a towel between your backside and the frozen water, put your feet up and slide down the hill.

Sounds fun, right?

The only problem is, sometimes the hill is really steep, or you forget how fast gravity works, and instead of being a fun trip, you start to panic. "This is crazy. This is scary. This is way too fast!" And instead of enjoying the ride, you put your heals down to slow it down. Sometimes that works, but usually I just bail out.

Why do I bail? Well, that's easy, really: I'm scared of where I'm headed. I feel out of control — And I'm not one to freely give up control. And just like sliding down a hill on an ice block, I lose my balance. My life becomes out of balance. So I bail, rolling a little bit, but eventually stopping, gaining balance again, going back to how I was. My comfort zone. And it's not exactly what I want, but it's what I know, it's where I have control, and it's at my own pace. And even though it's not graceful, it doesn't hurt nearly so bad as crashing at the bottom.

So love for me — or more appropriately put, romantic relationships — is like ice blocking. Full of anticipation and fun, at first exhilarating and then terrifying. The hill is so steep, gravity is so strong, and I'm just not sure if I'm going to glide into a beautiful landing, or crash and end up in a bloody mess at the bottom. I like control, I like planning, and ice blocking is all about going with it and trusting you can keep your balance and following through to the end, if you dare.

So, there it is, my analogy on love.

Except, where's the other person in all this? Or is the other person gravity? He's not the ice block. Well, maybe.

OK, so my analogy needs some work. But I stand by it. Love is like ice blocking.

And I'm bad at ice blocking.

Stevie's got some style with her bail. :o) June 2006 in Washington.

Things to Do Before I Die

2011-08-04T00:12:00.000-06:00

Go sky diving — completed July 29, 2011 with Kelsey Mortensen, Jessica Beus, Elizabeth Guthrie and Stefany Hedman in Tooele, Utah.
See Big Ben
See the Eiffel Tower
See the pyramids
Go to the Sacred Grove
Publish a book
Meet the prophet
Meet someone "worldly" famous — completed Aug. 18, 2011. Met authors Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson, in Provo, Utah.
Try on jewelry at Tiffany's
Go to the top of the Space Needle
Swim in the Dead Sea
See the Great Barrier Reef
Go on a mission
Visit all U.S. temples
Hike the Y — completed May 5, 2007 with BJ Zeyer, fall 2008 with Cara Jones and Neil Anderson, fall 2009 with Mac Alsbury and fall 2010 going solo.
Go in Central Park
Go to the Olympics
Play with a monkey
Ride a train — completed for the first time November 2008 from Provo, Utah to Grand Junction, Colo.
Go snowboarding
Ride a tandem bike
Work in a big city, like Seattle, Boston, NYC, Chicago.
Get above 91% at the Testing Center — completed Feb. 13, 2007. Physical Science 100 test.
See the Northern Lights
Go REAL rock climbing — completed Aug. 17, 2011. Rock Canyon, Provo, Utah with Kyle Hollenback.
Eat at Beto's — completed August 2009 with Gabe.
Eat at J-Dawgs — completed April 19, 2007 with BJ Zeyer.
Sleep under the stars, with no tent.
Slow dance in the rain
Eat a pomegranate — completed in 2010.
Drink pure pomegranate juice — completed February and April 2007 with Kelsey and Deon.
Go to Four Corners
Learn to dive
Run a 5K — completed March 12, 2011 at the Rex Lee Run in Provo, Utah
Go SCUBA diving
Go to the Festival of Colors (Hindu celebration) —completed March 2009 with Jason Lunt, Nathan Grout, Gregg Hernandez
Learn to break dance
Fence
Swim in the Atlantic Ocean
Eat cheese in Wisconsin
Donate blood — completed July 2007 at BYU with Matt Nielsen
Do 5 curl-ups
Sing "Meet Me in St. Louis" in St. Louis, Mo.
See a Broadway play — completed May 2008 with Deon. Saw "Wicked."
Learn a language fluently
Learn to use a Mac computer — completed Nov. 2007 with a MacBook which cost me $1050
Fly a plane
Graduate from college — completed August 2010, BYU, Bachelor of Arts in communications: print journalism. Cum Lade.
Go on a road trip with my best friends — completed May 2011 with Stevie Minder and Catherine Gosney, Provo, Utah to California.
Run through a waterfall
Anonymously give someone in need at least $100
Donate my hair to Locks of Love
Own, or at least vacation at, a beach house
Go to Sundance Film Festival
Find a wild onion in its natural habitat and eat it.
Get married
Have children

I guess they're really not numbered in the order of importance, but there it is. Some things, like beating Dr. Mario on high speed, level 20, happened before I thought to add them to the list. But now that I've done it, I feel weird adding it ... Ah, what the heck.

58. Beat Dr. Mario, level 20, on high speed — completed summer 2009 in Denton, Texas.

7.29.11

2011-07-29T16:12:00.003-06:00

For once you have tasted flight you will walk the earth with your eyes turned skywards, for there you have been and there you will long to return.
—Leonardo Da Vinci

It went terribly well, that thing I was talking about before. Here's some visual proof:

Before boarding the plane -- Stefany, Jessica, me, Kelsey

Flipping out of the plane. Amazing.

Free falling. Oh my gosh, it was awesome!

Not actually scary. Exhilarating would be a better term.

13,000 feet above the ground, 110 mph.

Seriously, everyone should try this.

After a grassy landing, with Justin the "Tandem Master."

No, I didn't tell my mom before I went. And yes, her reaction, along with my dad and sisters, was priceless. Worth every penny.

Things to Do Before I Die #1: Done. :o)

7.28.11

2011-07-28T17:36:00.000-06:00

I never cease to be amazed by the ridiculousness of my hair.

That is all.

--eg

P.S. In case I never post again, it's because of what I'm doing tomorrow morning, and it going horribly wrong. But if it goes horribly right, there's one more thing checked off my "Thing to Do Before I Die" list. So excited!

P.P.S. Obviously I annul my previous statement about the hair comment being "all."

7.26.11

2011-07-26T11:13:00.001-06:00

"I'm in love! I want your permission to marry, Papa!"

"There's a proper manner in which these things are supposed to happen, such as the boy would normally be standing next to you, in a moment such as this! Where is the BOY in all this, Kitty?"

"I haven't spoken to him as of yet."

"The young man is unaware of your intentions?"

—"The Village"

This makes me laugh, because I do this in my head more often than I'd like to admit. Or, another example, from Mr. Michael Buble:

"I'm not surprised, not everything lasts
I've broken my heart so many times, I stopped keeping track
Talk myself in, I talk myself out
I get all worked up, then I let myself down"

—"Just Haven't Met You Yet"

I think it would disturb some people how often I think myself "in love" with a boy just to change my mind a week later. And what's more disturbing, I suppose, is how incredibly easy it is to decide I no longer have interest in them. Some people have control over their dreams at night. I have a pretty good control over how I feel about men: If I sense they are out of my league, interested in someone else, or otherwise unattainable, I simply find a flaw and/or several excuses why I don't need to like them and voila! It's done.

(I'm guessing this has some deeper psychological meaning, like how I am afraid of trusting people so I don't venture in at all, or how I lack confidence in myself so I come up with reasons not to put myself out there, thus protecting me from the risk of confidence-crushing experiences.)

And I wonder why I'm not married! Ha ha.

Happy Tuesday! :o)

7.22.11

2011-07-22T00:48:00.000-06:00

Hello, gorgeous.

(More here.)

7.19.11

2011-07-19T23:20:00.006-06:00

An essay, of sorts, I wrote on Oct. 5, 2010.

I'm a runner.

I run from things, though. Not to things, not around, not a runner with tennis shoes and shorts. No, I prefer a healthy dose of cowardice, disregard for reality, and a foolish optimism in the greener grass that must be on the other side.

I have my family fooled, I'm sure of that. They see me as driven, accomplished, always making bad situations not so bad. But they are mistaken, or rather, deceived in their perception of me.

Perhaps I am all those things, do all those things, but it is all motivated by a much deeper, more selfish and fearful set of attributes and desires.

I am a runner because I cannot sit still, be still, settle down. Not mentally. My mind has an unhealthy habit of dreaming of what could be. Sure, I manage to enjoy what is, but only for a time. And then I must escape. I must. Or else I hole up, shutting myself off until I can make that escape. Or die, I guess. But I've always been able to break free, thus I am not dead.

Running from responsibility. I think that's one of the biggest motivators. Next, running away in hopes of being missed. Then, running in hopes of finding something better. There always has to be something better, right? I just haven't found it yet. Or else, I guess, I'd stop running.

I ran from there because I thought here would be better. I'm running from here to escape expectations, boredom, and a relapse into childhood. But I seem to be slamming into a wall of doubt as I run into the darkness. I can't see the green here, or there, everything is gray. And lonely. Always lonely.

I cried at a TV show tonight. Hard. I tried to stifle it, but there was no one there to see me weep, no mascara to run, and no reason to stop. I let the doubts, for a moment, squeeze out of my tear ducts and drop onto my shirt. And just as my fluids will regenerate, my doubts have already begun to mount. But it is too late. I must take the doubts, harness the fear, and run again. Not to anything, around anything, and not even from something this time. I'm just running. It is not liberating. It is terrifying.

***

This piece brings satisfaction to me every time I read it because I was able then to capture exactly what I was feeling. And in a way that doesn't just describe it, but illustrates it. Simply. I can see, as I think you can too, someone running both physically and mentally through their life.

I contradicted myself, in this essay. I just noticed it as I typed it up. I said I was running to escape expectations, etc., but at the end I say I'm not running from anything at all. I suppose both were true. I did want to escape the boredom of a part-time job and no friends, but that wasn't why I was leaving. My need to run came from what I described at the beginning — an inability to sit still and be satisfied with where I am.

I say "am" not "was" because this unbearable desire to run is back again. I cannot think of word adequate enough to describe the suffocation, the pulling and pushing inside my chest, the ever-increasing static inside my head that is deafening my senses to all that I once enjoyed in my present life.

My life seems to have so many chapters. This "present life" is one chapter. Short, like all the rest. But now I want another new beginning, a fresh page, a different patch of grass.

I've heard it said that if you cannot be happy with your life now, if you say to yourself, "I'll be happy when ..." that you'll never truly be happy. I agree. So what do they say about people who are happy for a while and then change their lives in order to find happiness again?

I suppose we're all discontents. Some just hide it better than others.

7.14.11

2011-07-14T11:09:00.001-06:00

I posted more pictures on that other blog of mine. They include kids and cows. Oh yeah. ahjunkphotography.blogspot.com

7.13.11

2011-07-13T14:01:00.000-06:00

It has come to my attention that no one understands what I do.

I'm a copy editor and designer.

Not a writer, not a photographer, not a metro editor or the publisher. I'm a copy editor and designer.

Let me break it down for you.

"Copy" = Text, articles, stories, cutlines (also known as captions), etc. Anything, aside from ads, on the newspaper's pages that has words involved? I edit it. (Thus the use of "editor" in my title.) I edit for grammar, misspellings, accuracy, flow and so forth.

"Designer" = Page layout. Reporters write the articles, photographers take the pictures, they put all of that onto the computer, which I then take and lay out on the pages, using a program called Adobe InDesign. The page is like a Word document, you know, blank, but InDesign is infinitely better than Word. In fact, I just threw up in my mouth thinking about having to use Word. Ever.

I just thought I'd explain that to anyone who still thinks I write for the newspaper. I never write articles. Ever. That's not what I'm paid to do. Nor do I ever take photographs for the paper. But I still work with those elements.

People forget there is someone in between the reporter and the paper showing up on their doorstep. That would be me. Without copy editors, all those articles and pictures would sit stagnant on computers in the newsroom.

So if you've ever read the news, in paper form or on the Web, a copy editor has had a hand in it.

Lucky you. Now you know that much more about the newspaper world.

My desk, in case you were curious. (Don't iPods take awesome pictures? Not.)

Close up of "desk personalization"

Oh, look! Even janitorial knows what we do!

(Just so we're clear, I don't write this out of resentment toward anyone. I understand that you're not obligated to know what I do. I just thought I'd inform you before you asked me what I've recently written for the paper. Because, you know, I don't write. For the paper. Ever.)

7.7.11

2011-07-07T11:40:00.001-06:00

I had a thought the other day, and if I may say so, it was quite a good one.

I was reading a magazine when the thought occurred to me, "Man, I'm bored with my life. What the heck am I doing with this life? What's my purpose? What am I living for?"

And then I realized, I'm living entirely for myself. I do everything for myself, thinking very little about others or even God, relative to the time I spend thinking about myself. What a sad life. No wonder I'm bored with it.

So I came up with a plan. There's 24 hours in a day. Eight of those are spent sleeping (or, in Catherine's case, 12. Just joking, just joking ... kinda). That leaves 16 waking hours. What do I do with those 16 hours? I shower, dress, eat, read, drive, clean, work, write, occasionally exercise, and on and on.

But 16 hours is quite a bit of time. What if I took roughly 10 percent, just an hour and a half, of each day and spent it thinking about and doing things for others?

An hour and a half writing letters, doing the dishes for my roommates, volunteering for Meals-on-Wheels, reading the scriptures, giving someone a ride. It's so little, yet, for some reason, incredibly daunting.

After living 24 hours a day for myself for 23 years, it's hard to suddenly devote 10 percent of my time to others.

But I'm gonna do it, because I'm bored with life and, more importantly, as President Thomas S. Monson said, "Unless we lose ourselves in service to others, there is little purpose to our own lives." (Nov. 2009 Ensign).

And isn't that what I want? More purpose? Or, really, a better purpose.

7.2.11

2011-07-02T10:11:00.000-06:00

Me and Kyle? We're friends. I'm pretty glad about that.

Me and my roommates went to the balloon ... launching thing today. It wasn't a festival, it was just a bunch of balloons flying around. It was pretty cool.

Happy Fourth of July ... ish. I have to work all weekend, so have fun without me. Puh-huh-huh.

6.25.11

2011-06-25T09:56:00.001-06:00

Brown shoes and vests. Mmm, yes. Brown shoes and vests.

Or perhaps a blue dress shirt.

There are just some things that men wear that get me.

Weak in the knees, even.

***

Speaking of weak in the knees, Adam and Shalisa got married yesterday (and I assume they're pretty weak in the knees for each other.) I had a good time at their reception. A beautiful evening for a wedding reception.

I took some photos for fun (as in, I wasn't the wedding photographer). See them here.

6.22.11

2011-06-23T00:56:00.000-06:00

“You seem embarrassed by loneliness … by being alone. It is only a place to start.” —Sabrina

I have come to love the movie "Sabrina" in the past few years. Something about it is calming, and something about it makes me think my dreams aren't that crazy, that Paris is just an ocean away, not a universe, and it's OK to be honest and blunt with people instead of just appeasing and passive. And this line, the one written at the top of the page, it has become more poignant as I've gotten older, seen my friends in and out of relationships, seen my friends get married, and see myself by myself year after year. At times I am embarrassed of being alone, no matter how much I profess to enjoy and even prefer it. But I like to think I'm a step beyond the character Sabrina at that point in the movie: I have become content, happy actually, with where I am and who I am and who I do not have beside me. Yes, sometimes, when people ask me who I'm dating and the answer is always the same, I feel a little silly. But the majority of the time I am proud, yes proud, of my life and who I've become. And more than anything, I'm excited for who I will become in the future. And yes, who that other person will be that will become a part of me in the future.

It seems that in this Provo, Utah culture — and really, the overarching American culture — people do not talk of love unless they have it or have been spurned by it. That longing for love, it is left on one end of the spectrum to the online dating sites, and on the other end, to poets and writers. Why? Why are we ashamed of expressing that deep, natural and beautiful desire for love? Instead, Provo-ites hide it and Americans in general replace it with one-night flings, satisfying a tiny part of the greater masterpiece. I lean toward the former, being a Provo-ite myself, writing snippets of my hopes on this seldom-read blog, and filling a journal page or two with the rest when the occasion warrants.

I'm not saying everyone should suddenly express every secret desire of their hearts for the world to examine. But wouldn't it be grand if we weren't so ashamed to do so? How much better we would know each other, perhaps even getting to know ourselves better, and forming deeper relationships through commonalities other than bands, books, sports and movies.

I'll start it off. That's only fair. So here it is, a honestly expressed desire of mine that I am neither ashamed nor entirely confident in sharing. It is my starting point.

Sunday

June 19, 2011

I visited Sarah and Mason (Victors) today. ... It wasn't weird at all, thank goodness, but I left with a bit stronger aching for married life. Or rather, just a companion to lean on, to share things with. I so want that. I want to find someone to trust so implicitly that I can smile at him because I know he'll smile back. How simple is that? How, almost juvenile. Yet it's the truth.

I'm not jealous of others who have that, my aching is not that type. My desire for a connection to another human being is subtle, yet poignant, if that's possible. It doesn't consume my life or take up every spare thought, but it is there, deep in my chest. I can feel it, lumped in between my lungs, above my stomach. It's a lump of desire and love and longing and trust and anticipation and care and concern and a million other things that I want to give away if only the right person would come.

It's like the weeks before Christmas and you've found the perfect gift for someone, and Christmas can't come fast enough and you're tempted to give it to them early because it's just so amazing, but they're not in town yet anyway, so you wait and you tell people about it, but that just makes you more excited and anxious to give it to them and it's all you can do to keep yourself from exploding!

That's how I feel. It's by no means bad, yet the term I think to describe it is 'excruciating.' When will relief come? I so want to share these things. Christmas seems like it will never come.

(But, it always comes, doesn't it? Sometimes, especially as I've gotten older, it even sneaks up on me.)

--elizabeth

The lonely unappreciated life of a copy editor

2011-06-21T00:53:00.000-06:00

My co-worker showed me this the other day and I nearly died. It is so perfect. Obviously if you're not a copy editor, you probably don't realize just how perfect this is, but take my word for it: It's perfect. Enjoy.

The lonely unappreciated life of a copy editor
By Jamie Kelly

The great thing about being a copy editor, besides all the drunks you get to meet in your after-work socializing, is that the public at large has no clue who you are or what you do. Most don’t even know you exist, sort of like my experience with girls in high school.

If they do have a guess, it’s that a copy editor is some mousy nerd in a fedora who runs spell-check over a story and knows the difference between its and it’s. And I’m trying to think of what that difference is right now, but it’s significance has escaped me, so we shall do as that chicken did in that parable and cross the road into other material.

Indeed, the public doesn’t know that we’re the lowlifes who write the headlines and design the pages in our vainglorious delusion that the public cares about headlines and design.

Of course, the public DOES care about headlines and design. They just don’t really know it.

They’re not picking up the paper every day, thinking, “I wonder who the creative genius is down there at the daily paper who makes the layout so attractive! Just look at that reefer to additional related content inside, for example. Just look at it, Marge! And that headline is poignant and subtle and replete with emo-tional impact, enticing me into further reading of the subject matter above which it rests. I’d sure like to meet that copy editor and give him chocolate and a sack of cash.”

Nah.

See, we don’t get all the praise and adoration that reporters and Dave Barry-ripoff columnists get. We have no bylines; we don’t mingle with the general public; we don’t bring down empires and quote anony-mous sources and make up stories while sitting on our butts in a bar, downing whiskeys on the company credit card like that esteemed reporter from the New York Times, although that sounds pretty damn sweet, which is exactly why I don’t have access to the company credit card.

In fact, if you approached a member of the public and said, “Hello, person, I’m a copy editor at your daily newspaper,” he’d probably look at you and say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about and get the hell away from me or I will puncture your abdomen with my keys.”

Not that there aren’t little perks to our anonymity. When we screw up a headline, most people assume it’s the reporter who’s responsible. Have you ever noticed that? Isn’t that cool? I always get a good little chuckle out of that. That’s why reporters, who can be such repressive whiners, get so ticked off when you write, “Blah blah blah, some headline about some loser goes here” above their story.

It’s just that we would sure appreciate a little recognition every now and then, wouldn’t we, fellow low-lifes? Just a little. Just a phone call from the mayor, saying “Jamie, I LOVED that headline over the story about my indictment.” Or how about adding a Use of White Space category to the Pulitzer Prizes? Or how about having a chance at that $5,000 Lee Enterprises award, WHOOPS, I better delete that last one.
As it is, the only recognition we get is from each other in the form of “Nice design, dude,” or from our superiors in the form of, “Get your ass in here and let’s talk about that spelling error.”

Such a lonely, unappreciated life it is on the copy desk. I don’t even know why I have a telephone here. Every time it rings, I know it’s my mother.

She’s not entirely clear what I do here.

Jamie Kelly is a columnist and copy editor at the Missoulian in Missoula, Mont. He can be reached at (406) 523-5254 or at jkelly@missoulian.com.

6.19.11

2011-06-19T22:56:00.002-06:00

Catherine visited good ol' Utah after our California adventure. (Ugh, that was bad. As in, the use of "California adventure," not the actual trip.)

At Temple Square.

At Bridal Veil Falls.

At Sammy's with Bobby. Ha.

At Sammy's with Jessica.

And then Catherine left (thanks for booking a 5:50 a.m. flight buddy. I appreciate it.) and we had a bonfire. Not because she left, just coincidentally.

OK, so this is what we did at the bonfire because, well, we didn't have any beer. (Nor do we ever, cuz, you know, we don't need it.) We shake our heads back and forth really fast, relaxing our faces. It was quite the experience.

P.S. There were more people at the bonfire than just me and Jessica, but their pictures weren't as awesome as me and Jessica's, you don't know them, or I didn't get pictures of them in the first place. There ya go.

The Vacation: Part IV

2011-06-12T23:29:00.001-06:00

THE BEACH and GRANDMA DEON

Catherine opted to stay at Grandma's, so me and Stevie went to the beach. Which one? Sunset, I think. We wanted to try out Huntington, but, you know, it was getting late. It was hecka windy, too, so we watched the windsurfers and ate cherries and bought a T-shirt and headed back through the wonderful L.A. traffic.

Me and Cath got silhouettes done at Disneyland, so when we got back to Grandma's we had to put them next to Grandma's that she had done when she was young.

Left to right: Elizabeth, Grandma Deon, Catherine.

We left Friday morning. I wish we could've stayed longer.

Yep, it was a good trip.

The Vacation: Part III

2011-06-11T00:33:00.002-06:00

DISNEYLAND and CALIFORNIA ADVENTURE

We actually got to Disneyland BEFORE it opened, although, not on purpose. I failed to look at the opening time, so we arrived about 30 minutes before it opened.

While everyone else got in line to meet the princesses, we opted for the crazies. The Mad Hatter was pretty funny.

Cath liked this topiary. (And yes, I totally spelled that right the first time, by myself. Whaaaaaat.)

We went on Space Mountain first. That was a mistake. So we decided to watch Captain EO in 3-D to ease our stomachs. Oh man, Michael Jackson. As Catherine said, "Who the heck would marry him?"

We got beignets and mint juleps in New Orleans Square. Mmmmm, so good.

OK, so these signs are everywhere and they crack me up. I don't like to read while on vacation, so I interpreted it as "For your safety, NO DANCING!" True, right?

Stevie got some wicked bad blisters on the first day, so she went to the car to sleep them off (doesn't work, by the way) and me and Cath went on all the kiddy rides to finish out the night. Ah, the Tea Cups. Love 'em.

Day 2 at Disneyland/Calif. Adventure was better than the first, in my opinion. Partly because of this picture. Stevie on Hollywood Tower of Terror.

We also went, on the second day, to the Pinnochio restaurant. Bet you didn't know he had one, huh? It serves German/Austrian food ... I guess. I got a chicken sausage in a pretzel roll. Stevie and Cath got cheese burgers. If they had gotten hamburgers it would've been a little more legitimate. Cuz, you know, Hamburg, Germany? A-Ha. A-Ha.

"It's a Small World After All." Surprisingly I didn't have it stuck in my head for that long afterward.

Things got a little crazy toward the end of the second day. Enjoy the madness.

Overall, a very fun experience. I will forever remember the agony of pushing a wheelchair up Paradise Pier at California Adventure with the BRAKE ON! And, thanks Catherine for going on California Screamin' not once, but THREE times with us. Or was it four? And Stevie, you're pretty cool in general.

The Vacation: Part II

2011-06-09T12:39:00.002-06:00

UPLAND

When we got to Upland we talked with Grandma and ate some good food and went to a thrift store. This is the only picture I got while there, except for the morning we left Upland. Anyway, behold the most amazing pants ever.

Pink. Pockets. Ankle cuffs. Hammer pants. Oh yeah.

6.7.11

2011-06-08T01:52:00.000-06:00

Proof that I'm getting old:

1) I got a financial magazine in the mail from my bank and didn't throw it away immediately. In fact, I put in on my desk with the intention of reading it. Which leads to number 2 ...

2) I forgot about the magazine. I'm forgetting things more and more.

3) I went to Disneyland last week and the beach. I had fun, but it took a lot of convincing myself that it would be more fun at Disneyland than it would be to hang out with my grandma at home and just let the "kids" go to Anaheim. I still have my doubts about if Disneyland was worth it. ;o)

4) I buy mixed nuts, extra-fiber wheat bread, normal colored underwear and I almost bought a bag of dates. DATES! I'll tell you what, I need a different kind of date, although the normal colored underwear might be hurting my chances.

5) I worry more about comfort than looks when picking out clothes in the morning.

6) I went looking for face creme to reduce dark circles and prevent wrinkles. Too expensive. Which is another proof of me getting old: tight-wad. Or maybe that's just a Gosney thing.

All I need now is a Kindle and some orthopedic shoes and I'll be good go to the early-bird dinner special and BINGO night at the community center. Not that those are bad things, oh heavens no. I wish this aging thing would speed up a little.

(And yes, I'm well aware that the majority of you who read my blog own Kindles or something like unto it. And guess what? You're all older than me. HA! So quit taking offense. And, I love you.)

The Vacation: Part I

2011-06-05T01:10:00.001-06:00

UTAH

Stevie flew in on Friday, May 27. We hung out in Salt Lake City for a while, exploring Temple Square and getting Chipotle for lunch before picking up Catherine at the airport and heading back to Provo.

Saturday we made our way over to BYU and they got all excited about the Jimmer cutout. Notice they have to keep even the cutout out of reach, locked away. For good reason.

Then we went to a crepe place. Overpriced, but very good. (Unless you got the buffalo chicken one. No good.) Later we went to get cupcakes. Cupcakes are a girls best friend, you know, because you can't eat diamonds.

Sunday morning we headed out on the open road, making our way to the coast. ("We're winging our way to the coast." "Mmmm, California.") Catherine sang loudly and I drank Diet Coke and Stevie put up with us pretty well.

We stopped in St. George for In-N-Out and walked around the temple grounds, too. Did I feel out of place and sacrilegious? Why yes, yes I did.

And that concludes Part I of our four-part series. Tune in tomorrow — er, later — for Part II.

5.25.11

2011-05-25T01:32:00.001-06:00

I'm no longer a vegetarian.

Yeah, I know. You were anxiously waiting for the end.

So was I.

After two weeks, the first animal flesh I ate was tuna.

And it was soooooo good.

I mixed the tuna with corn, diced tomato and cucumber, mustard, mayo, pepper and salt. And then I ate it on a tortilla.

Exciting, right?

Actually that's the only meat I've eaten since my two week vegetarian experiment ended, come to think of it.

I wish I had something else to tell you guys. Alas, I do not. But no worries, next week you will be inundated with pictures of the highlight trip of my young life. Did that make sense? Highlight trip? Meh. It's late. Early. It's 1:32 a.m.

5.17.11

2011-05-18T01:40:00.000-06:00

I've never considered myself a cook. As in, I can't cook. Or bake. Unless you want tacos or some cakebox cookies. I can handle those two things tolerably well.

So when I got my produce on Saturday and included were some artichokes, I was lost as to what to make with them. I steamed them and they turned out horribly. Luckily, the hearts were still edible, so I made up a recipe for them. Yes, made it up. And miraculously it turned out pretty dang well.

Here's out it went down:

3/4 cup artichoke hearts (cubed)
1 1/4 cups tomatoes (cubed)
1 cup onions (diced)
1 1/2 T. minced garlic
3 T. olive oil

I cooked the above ingredients in a skillet until the onions were getting clear (truth be told, I cooked the garlic and onions in the oil for a bit before adding the tomatoes and artichokes.)

1 1/2 cups milk
1/3 cup flour
salt
pepper
Italian seasoning

I whisked the above together, then poured it into the hot skillet with everything else, adding about 3 tablespoons of butter. It thickened up pretty quickly, which I was pretty pleased about. I think the 3/4 cup of parmesan cheese helped with that, too.

I cooked some elbow macaroni and added my sauce/paste on top. Seriously, when I dared take a bite, I was shocked that it didn't taste like dirt. Like I said, it was a miracle. It tasted way good. Even my roommates agreed, and they don't lie. ... often.

OK, so the pictures make it look pretty bland, but I promise it was not.

A couple days before this recipe, I made fajitas, sans meat. They were way good, too. Seriously, I'm suddenly becoming a competent female! Ha ha. I included onions, bell peppers and tomatoes, plus garlic, olive oil, seasoning salt and lime juice. Mmmm.

So in conclusion, this whole vegetarian thing is pretty fun. I kinda wanted a hamburger today, but that passed pretty quickly. Not that I won't eat one come Monday. Or maybe I'll just start with some tuna.

P.S. I've been watching the old school BBC version of "Pride and Prejudice." I forgot how funny it is. And how awesome Colin Firth is. The Lizzy in the version still kinda bugs me, but everything else is pretty spectacular. Just sayin'.

5.14.11

2011-05-14T00:43:00.000-06:00

Correction:

That post I said didn't post? Well, it did, in fact, post. Again. I promise it was gone for a while there. Anyway, enjoy the repetition.

Love,
Elizabeth

P.S. Looking for something amazing to watch? "Sherlock" is what I would recommend (it was recommended to me by two other people — Thomas and Catherine — so now you can say three people recommended it to you.) Watch it instantly on Netflix. (It's a BBC Masterpiece Mystery! mini series. The second season, rumor has it, is in production at the moment.)

5.13.11

2011-05-13T10:55:00.001-06:00

I posted a ... post yesterday via my iPod Touch. It appeared on my blog on there, but then I noticed it wasn't there when I accessed my blog on my computer. Odd. But then Blogger wasn't available last night at midnight, so I forgot about it. This morning I can't find the post any where. Creeeeeepy.

It wasn't anything controversial, it's not like The Man took it off all Big Brother-style. It was more of a journal entry about my first couple days of no meat and then playing Ultimate Frisbee on Wednesday night after work. Maybe that's why it was deleted: Boring?

Here's the gist of it:

Being vegetarian isn't that hard so far, but I miss tuna.

I was chosen for the Ultimate team with all the good guys. I thought it was because I was considered good, too, but really it was an attempt to even out the teams. Yeah, I stunk so bad I counteracted at least two of the guys' mad skillz. Ha ha.

Add in some clever sarcasm and a bit of wit, and you have the mysterious disappearing post. Ta-dah!

5.11.11

2011-05-12T01:05:00.000-06:00

OK, so it has been three days of no meat and it's way easier than I thought. I did have to skip the BBQ chicken sandwiches at FHE, but no biggy. Tonight I went to dinner with Thomas and got nachos, sans meat. Not bad at all. You know what I do miss though? Tuna. That is staple in my life, so that fishy-pickle sandwich is dearly missed.

I played some Ultimate Frisbee after work today. Other than being made painfully aware of my increasing blindness, it was really fun. I came straight from the Herald, so my attire was a hinderance at times, but the guys still passed it to me a bit. Ha, speaking of guys, when they picked teams, I was put with four of the really pro guys. You know who I'm talking about, the ones who can make a pass with seven people guarding them and who wear really tall socks. ... Yeah. So when I saw who I had been placed with I thought, "Cool! I must be considered good, too!" And then it clicked: "No, Elizabeth, you are the weak link. The filler person, the token girl to make the teams more fair because they got all the good guys." Oooooooh. Ouch. My logical counter-part can be pretty brutally honest sometimes.

Well, at least I can go next week with my cleats and spandex and prove to them I am more than just a filler. I mean, come on, I'll be wearing spandex.

P.S. One of the guys started singing the theme song to "Phineas and Ferb." I may have fallen in love with him just a little bit. Too bad it was so dark I can't remember what he looks like.

5.9.11

2011-05-09T17:20:00.002-06:00

An Experiment in Vegetarianism.

I've been thinking for some time, "I could totally be vegetarian. If I wanted to." And before yesterday, I didn't want to, so I haven't been.

But something clicked in my head after a week and a half of eating almost exclusively fruits and vegetables (thanks food co-op): I feel awesome!

(OK, so it clicked in my body, rather than my head, but the thought had to click in my head, so that's where the clicking is going to get the credit.)

So I got up this morning, pulled out the blender, and dumped a whole bunch of stuff in, hoping something edible would come of it. Spinach, half a tomato, cucumber, an orange, blueberries, cantaloupe, pineapple and a little milk.

So it kind of resembles the scum in a stagnant pond, but it tasted pretty good (a little too spinachy, perhaps).

Then, this afternoon, I went to Good Earth. After shyly making my way through a couple aisles, avoiding eye contact with all the granolas in their Birkenstocks and organic pants, and acting like I had been there before, I found the bulk section. I got some dried mangos and papaya and grabbed a bag of flax seed meal before checking out. The cashier asked if I had a frequent customer card. When I replied in the negative, she nodded and proceeded to tell me my total. Apparently my bright blue Relient K T-shirt and worn-out Vans didn't scream at her, "Frequent Customer." Well, let's just see about that, hun.

So, long story short, I will be not be consuming any meat for the next two weeks. Just for clarity, I'm not trying to be vegan — I have no idea how people have the will power and the money to do that. I love milk, cheese and eggs too much, and have you seen how expensive the vegan products can be? Sheesh.

Also, just so we're clear, I'm not doing this for animals' sake(s?). Or because I think slaughtering cows is causing global warming (or that their "natural gas" is causing it, either.) But let's not get started on global warming. That's just asking for trouble.

I'm trying this out for me. It's purely selfish. I want to feel good, be healthier, be more conscious of what I'm putting into my body.

In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realize it has nothing to do with meat, but everything to do with more natural food. With fruits and vegetables and less oil and processed junk. It's like going a week without washing your face: Your pores are clogged and you feel disgusting. That's how my body felt before I starting eating more fruits and vegetables, like a 15-year-old's acne ridden, pore clogged face. (You're welcome, for that image.)

So, stop weeping, Catherine, I'm not giving up hamburgers forever. And I fully intend to eat a corn dog at Disneyland in a few weeks. I just want to try this, to make healthy eating a habit before incorporating some meat back in, because, after all, "flesh also of beasts and of the fowls of the air, I, the Lord, have ordained for the use of man with thanksgiving; nevertheless they are to be used sparingly" [Doctrine and Covenants 89:12].

So, wish me luck?

5.8.11

2011-05-09T02:24:00.001-06:00

Woohoo! New camera! :o)

I kind of have an addiction. In addition to my Canon DSLR, I have a Nikon 32mm, an underwater video camera, a juice box camera, an iPod Touch with a camera, an old Kodak digital, and will shortly be inheriting an Olympus 35mm. Oh, and then there's my new Samsung TL500. Basically anything that captures an image is like crack to me. Catherine says I have too many cameras, but really, is there such a thing as too many cameras? I submit there is not. Plus, if I spend my money on cameras, I won't spend it on crack. So there you go.

Here's a couple more pictures that I took: [Ah Junk Photography]

5.5.11

2011-05-05T12:08:00.002-06:00

Happy Cinco de Mayo! And to celebrate, a little BYU pride and humor.

5.2.11

2011-05-03T02:51:00.000-06:00

Osama bin Laden is dead. For a couple days now, actually. And other than wanting to be the first to tell people the news (on Sunday I was doing that), I don't know what else to say. Am I glad he's dead? Yeah. Just like I'm glad when rapists and murderers leave this world. Do I want to celebrate? No. Do I feel like this changed anything? Not really. He was one man, and although it is a victory for our country, it doesn't end terrorism. It doesn't bring back all those people who have died. Heck, it doesn't even change the fact that I have to get to the airport 2 hours early to go through security.

So I guess the reason I haven't said much of anything to anybody about this historic event is because I figure it is what it is. Things are going to continue forward as they always do. What really can you say about that? About the continuation of existence like it was continuing yesterday? It is what it is. Let's continue forward.

I know my opinion may seem too weak, too passive maybe. And I guess it is. What of it?

(Wanna know something kinda funny along the same lines? When I heard the news I thought, "Wow, really? I never thought this day would come. ... This is kinda anti-climatic." And then I thought about how this'll be my attitude when I get married: "Wow, I never thought this day would come. ... How anti-climatic.")

4.29.11

2011-04-29T06:01:00.001-06:00

Thoughts while watching Prince William and Kate Middleton's wedding:

I haven't seen this much religious material on TV since General Conference.

Kate's dress is so classy, and not just because she married a prince. Sleeves are so classy. And lace.

I kept thinking of "Princess Bride" whenever the dudes would say, "Marriage" and pause.

Prince William has one of the best British voices I've ever heard.

Those hats are freakin' ridiculous. I'm talking about the ladies in the audience as well as the priests.

Is that Lady Gaga, sitting behind the queen?

Seriously, too many hymns.

Hey, isn't that a Mormon hymn?

Hey, isn't that an American song? Crazy Brits.

Oh my gosh, the birds are chirping outside my window here in Utah. I just pulled an all-nighter to watch a wedding I didn't care about 2 days ago.

4.26.11

2011-04-27T00:30:00.001-06:00

Missing Washington lately and wishing I could get the time off from work to visit. For now, I'll just design some Washington pride posters. Ha. Mmm, rain and trees.

4.23.11

2011-04-23T00:52:00.000-06:00

Full-time position, my lady?
Why thank you, sir.

I'm now a big kid because I have a full-time job, with benefits and a 401(k). I know, sick, right? I mean, any sliver of a social life I had before will now be completely obliterated, but at least I'll have money for now and a little for retirement later, in all my old-maidness. But, like Emma Woodhouse says (or at least she says in the latest BBC adaptation of the book), she need not be pitied for being an old maid, should she become one (spoiler alert: she doesn't) because she'll be a RICH old maid. So, in your face, Utah culture! I'm still gonna be flirting when I'm 60 and have lots of money to attract da yunga boyz. Yeeeyah! Going on a date with a Cougar will have a whole new meaning when I get to that age. (Or maybe a double meaning. Even betta.)

Now, a timeline of my existence in pictures. All of which happened to be taken earlier this week on my day off. Fancy that.

This is me right now, all spicy and colorful like Thai food. (And perhaps just as stinky. Depends.)

Someday I'll get wrinkly like this tree. And white. ... Whiter.

Then I'll die, probably on my back because I do like reclining. In a grove of trees, though? Perhaps.

I'll live in the clouds. Or maybe just fly around in them. I don't know exactly where Heaven is located, but I'm expecting to end up there, and I also have high expectations for my physical abilities once dead. (Irony?)

And finally, the mysterious "J." Not really sure who that is, but apparently HE knows we are meant to be together. If not in real life, at least in tree-carving form. This photo is not necessarily in the right place on the timeline, but not knowing where to put it, I thought the end would be a good place.

So there you have it. Now I think I'll go to sleep. I managed two and a half hours yesterday. (Thanks Thomas. It's always a pleasure driving you to the airport at 6 a.m. ;o)

4.17.11

2011-04-18T02:48:00.003-06:00

2011-04-18T02:48:00.000-06:00

4.15.11

2011-04-16T02:44:00.002-06:00

The view from my apartment. I live in a beautiful place. Sometimes I envy people who live in big cities bursting with concerts, museums, food and diversity, among other things. But then I look at my city and am grateful to have all those things in moderation in addition to big blue skies, soaring mountains, lower crime rates and just enough people that if you do something humiliating, there's a good likelihood you won't see them again ... very soon. Ha ha.

P.S. Happy birthday Mom!

4.12.11

2011-04-12T14:08:00.000-06:00

Guess what? I won a giveaway! First time ever, and I've entered quite a few on blogs. Granted, I only had 6 people to compete with, but hey, it still counts!

I don't know what I'll use the gift certificate for, or even where this spa place is, but whatever. It's free. :o)

I got my iPod Touch yesterday. I took some pictures (with a sweet app, no less.)

In the HFAC.

Taking a break from playing the piano.

Outside the HFAC, talking to Kelsey.

Part of the HFAC. If I had taken this photo without the funky filter, it would've been lame. But you put it into a slide format and it suddenly looks like a long-lost photo your dad took while at BYU. Am I right?

At home.

I'm having a good time with my new technology. Obviously.

4.8.11

2011-04-08T23:58:00.001-06:00

Thoughts of the Week:

1) I will never buy an animal as compensation for lack of a husband, children or friends. I see it happen, and it's borderline pathetic. That being said, it is obvious I would never talk to an animal or refer to it as a human being. (I do not apologize for this firm standard. My first inclination was to add, "Sorry, animal lovers," here, but, like I said, I'm not apologizing.)

2) It's a dangerous thing when I'm feeling rich and spontaneous at the same time. I end up receiving several packages in the mail a week or so later full of items that are great, but not absolutely necessary. However, some of you will benefit, because I tend to find things that someone else just can't live without. This episode's benefactor? Catherine. Keep a wary eye. Well, not wary, actually, since it's a good surprise.

Among the things I bought this week:

Adele's album, "21" -- You should have a listen.

An iPod Touch. I kinda broke my iPod Classic, so this was justified. Kinda.

Yes, this is a camera that looks like a juice box. How sweet is THAT?! It uses 35mm film, no batteries, no flash, and the straw acts as the on/off switch and the shutter release. This was a complete joy-purchase. No purpose except joy. :o)

(Find it here.)

P.S. Luckily I not only felt rich, I kinda was. As in, I got a fatty tax return. So, no worries, Mom. ;o)

3) It never feels so good to be graduated from college than during finals week. (Which is in a week for BYU. Suckers.)

4) Huge turn-off for me when it comes to guys: Finding out they watch excessively crass, crude, violent or satanic movies. Rated-R or not. Seriously, what do you think you're gaining from watching them? Or, put another way, what would you really be missing by not watching them?

5) I am blessed with a quality bunch of people in my life. They're kindness, thoughtfulness, generosity and humor never cease to amaze me. Thank you.

6) I saved a daffodil from being crushed by snow, the next day it was sunny. Now it's snowing again. Not cool, Mother Nature. I need to find me some more suffering flowers.

I bought new glasses.

4.5.11

2011-04-06T00:46:00.001-06:00

Are you ready? I am so ready. So. Ready. For. Spring.

(And summer, for that matter.)

Have you ever played 2-on-2 soccer, on an outdoor basketball court, in flip-flops? It's pretty intense. I made 3 of our 4 goals, thankyouverymuch. (Not bad for a softball player, huh?)

Have you ever watched "Return to Me" with the audio commentary on? I'm guessing no. It's pretty interesting, though. I never knew how many of the people are related to Bonnie Hunt in that movie, or how much symbolism there is. (Can you tell I didn't want to go to sleep last night? Yeah.)

I killed by iPod Classic. Bummer, right? I kinda dropped it while running. On three different occasions. And that whole, "hit your iPod really hard if you have not other choice because it'll bump the hard drive needle back into place" is total bull. Just so you know. So! I bought a (refurbished) iPod Touch. Fancyshmancy (I'm pretty sure that's one word. No hyphen). Pretty dang excited to get Angry Birds and play until my eyes drop out of my head.

4.3.11

2011-04-03T13:55:00.000-06:00

3.29.11 #2

2011-03-29T02:03:00.001-06:00

I was at FHE for about 30 seconds when my friend Andy said hi to me, followed with, "You working tonight? No? Wanna go to the Nickelcade?"

What do you think I said?

We played Ninja Turtles, NBA Jam (or something to that effect. I lost by 2. Bummer.), Cruisin' the World, Dr. Mario (I killed, obviously), air hockey, Deal or No Deal (we got 20 tickets), some crazy shoot-em-up game based in India where you simultaneously kill giant spiders and giant leeches, while being told how compatible you are with the person sitting next to you (78%, apparently). We gambled a lot of the nickels away (it always pays off in the end. But for all you young, impressionable people *cough*Catherine*cough* gambling is bad), and played skeeball, of course! And with 2 nickels left, we tried out Golden Axe. Best choice we ever made. First of all, it only cost 1 nickel to play. Secondly, we played for close to 5 minutes without dying, and thirdly, Andy's character had a dwarf on his back from the start — a dwarf! — and we stole a giant, rideable preying mantis from some crippled warrior. Like I said, best choice ever.

After all the nickels were gone, we counted up our tickets (250, and actually, a machine counts them for you. Crazy technology these days) and got fake mustaches and a back-scratcher. Made in China, no less.

The Nickelcade is amazing. I think when I get married, I'm gonna have the reception at the Nickelcade. No, for reals, that would be SWEET!

Groucho Marx and Luigi's estranged wife.

Tom Selleck? No, Andy Allred.

The back-scratcher doubles as a mustache comb. What a deal, right?

3.29.11

2011-03-29T01:30:00.001-06:00

I had my eyes dilated a week ago at my eye appointment. First time ever. Really strange experience. When I got home I couldn't help but take some pictures of my creepy eyes. (I'm pretty sure horror movie writers got some of their visual ideas from seeing people with dilated eyes. And squirrels. Squirrels look like this.)

In case you were wondering, my eyes are doing a little worse than last year, but only by -0.25 ... Whatever that means. Oh, and I have an astigmatism in my right eye. I don't know what that means either. What I DO know is that I bought two new pairs of glasses and am quite looking forward to wearing them in a couple weeks when they come in the mail. Ah, the beauty of doctor-prescribed accessories. :o)

3.28.11

2011-03-28T16:48:00.002-06:00

Dialogue practice.
March 18, 2011
[Don't make fun of me, that's why this is called "practice."]

"I go to a school out in New Jersey," he said, staring in to the bonfire, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans.

"New Jersey, huh? Is it just any school, or are we talking Princeton or ..."

"Yeah, I go to Princeton."

"Oh ..." I hadn't expected that, and my weak response made that fact obvious.

"Wow, you really do? And you weren't going to say it until I asked. How very humble of you." My added response seemed to smooth over the strange pause I'd caused by slathering a dose of sarcasm and genuine interest onto the faltering conversation. (I flatter myself, really, but it still seemed to do the trick.)

"It always comes out in the end, " he admitted, glancing out of the corner of his eye at me before examining a stick on the ground with his foot, pushing the blackened twig back and forth with the white rubber sole of his worn-out blue Vans.

"You act ashamed of your accomplishment," I noted out loud.

"More just tired of people being impressed by the name."

"Ah, so you go there, but you got in because of your family and stay in by cheating off your classmates, but you don't actually feel worthy of bearing its name across an over-priced sweatshirt?"

A wad of laughter fell out of his mouth, loosening his clenched jaw. He shook his head. But rather than out of denial, it was a symbol of relieved admittance to unspoken truths. Or at least, some truths.

"I'm not a good cheater. It's easier to study, at least for me."

His attempt at humor was lacking.

"What about the sweatshirts?" I couldn't help but throw him a bone of opportunity for another try at wit.

"Oh, I'm worthy of the name. But I'm allergic to the polyester they mix in with the cotton ..."

"That didn't —"

"— make sense. I know." His failure at wit was saved by an admission of ineptitude, which ultimately made his comment a success.

"Princeton would never use polyester."

And with that he bid me a goodnight and went back to New Jersey.

[Based on a real conversation with a real Princeton boy.]

3.23.11

2011-03-24T01:11:00.000-06:00

I made this. Not for anyone in particular, I just had the Weezer song stuck in my head.

3.21.11

2011-03-20T23:54:00.000-06:00

Do you have one of those shirts that you put on in an attempt to transport yourself, even for a moment, into another time or place or life, or all three?

Yeah, me either.

That is, I didn't until this week. See, I bought shirt last week — on sale with an additional discount, no less — and it makes me want to escape to a beach house with white walls and blue couches, a big porch and even bigger windows that look out into a cloud-spotted sky and the ocean that stretches out for infinity.

Who knew a shirt could invoke such a strong desire?

3.20.11

2011-03-20T03:37:00.000-06:00

Quick designs at 3:35 a.m.

3.15.11

2011-03-15T20:58:00.000-06:00

Lots of new pictures here:

[ahjunkphotography.blogspot.com]

3.12.11 #2

2011-03-12T14:46:00.001-07:00

Soleil wanted to celebrate 311 Day (March 11), which meant listening to 311 (their a band, in case you were confused) and making pizza and brownies. No worries, the brownies didn't have any pot in them. We also wore creeper glasses and did creeper moves. (Look it up on YouTube. "Do the Creep.") It was quite fun, quite fun.

Elizabeth, Soleil and Dillon

Dillon had the added bonus of a Chester-the-Molester mustache.

The following pictures were stolen from Dillon's Facebook page. Don't report me.

Making the (non-pot) brownies.

3.12.11

2011-03-12T14:11:00.001-07:00

I had one goal for today's Rex Lee 5K Run: Don't stop to walk. And I didn't. So, booyah. And even though I only finished about 5 minutes before the first 10K runner came in, I didn't walk.

Please forgive my face. It was early (for me) and, well, you already know I have a gimp face.

Katie and me at the beginning.

Thomas and me. (He didn't run it, he can do a lot more than 3.1 miles, but he came to support me. What a good brother!)

Thomas and me after the race, at his apartment.

At home, marinating in my stench. Mmmm, boy.

I didn't get pictures with everyone I'd hoped -- I cut it kinda close having to go home and get my bib (number) because I forgot it. Thus, I was later to the starting line and had to forgo pictures. Bummer. But I got one with Thomas, who is the reason I started training for a 5K and why I want to continue running. Like I said, I have an awesome brother.

Next up: 10K.

Maybe next year. :o)

3.9.11

2011-03-09T04:05:00.000-07:00

For the first time in a long time I have more in my checking and savings accounts than I owe on my credit card.

It's a good feeling.

Unfortunately my sleeping habits are "in the red," so to speak.

As in, it's 3:52 a.m. and I feel only slightly tired.

I got up at 1:30 yesterday. In the afternoon.

I feel justified, seeing as I get off work at 11:30 p.m.

But that justification goes out the window when I spend the hours from midnight until 3 watching Netflix videos. Or "You've Got Mail" for the 100th time. (I love that movie, but it still baffles me as to why, exactly.)

My molars hurt. My eye lids are dry. I guess I should go to bed.

And a video for any of you shmoes who haven't seen this yet. And because it's even funnier at 4:03 a.m.

3.3.11

2011-03-03T23:53:00.000-07:00

I utilized my camera yesterday. Take a look. [ahjunkphotography.blogspot.com]

2.28.11 #2

2011-02-28T02:21:00.001-07:00

One of my goals for 2011, and hopefully for life, is to read at least one book a month of my own choosing. So far (in 2011) I have read "Wuthering Heights." I'm half-way done with "Great Expectations" (obviously I'm a little behind seeing as it's the last day of the month) and for March I plan to finish "Little Men" which I started reading when I had my two-month stint in Texas last year.

By the way:

"Wuthering Heights" by Emily Bronte -- ★★☆☆☆
[Simply put, there was too little kindness, too few people to root for, and too little exceptional writing -- the kind that makes me think, "Ah, yes, THAT is why I want to be a writer. To write a passage as great as that." The story was intriguing, though, I'll give Emily that.]

"Great Expectations" by Charles Dickens -- Up to this point ★★★★☆
[Simply put, it is a fascinating story filled with both likable and unlikable characters, good details, some funny lines and enough mystery to make me want to keep reading page after page, but not too much that I'm confused.]

Any suggestions on what to read for April?

2.28.11

2011-02-28T02:05:00.001-07:00

I was looking through some pictures from last summer and found some of Mt. Rainier from the sky. Holy cow, how awesome, right? And really I mean, how awesome am I for taking these? Ha ha. (When I say "these" I mean the others I have posted on my photography blog.)

2.27.11

2011-02-27T20:03:00.000-07:00

I bought a remote for my camera, so naturally me and Soleil had to take nerdy/ugly/scary pictures of ourselves in bad lighting to try it out. Enjoy.

2.26.11

2011-02-26T02:19:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I want to barf from loneliness.

Other times I want to barf in order to be left alone.

It all evens out in the end.

-eg

2.25.11

2011-02-25T22:58:00.000-07:00

Two trailers for movies I would very much like to see.

2.24.11

2011-02-24T02:16:00.000-07:00

A video from my trip to Devon and Sarah's a few weeks ago.

2.23.11

2011-02-24T01:30:00.001-07:00

Quotes I read recently on a great blog.

"Courage is the power to let go of the familiar."

--Raymond Lindquist

"The key to change is to let go of fear."

--Rosanne Cash

"We are not the same persons this year as last; nor are those we love. It is a happy chance if we, changing, continue to love a changed person."

--William Somerset Maugham

"The great thing is, if one can, to stop regarding all the unpleasant things as interruptions in one's 'own' or 'real' life. The truth is, of course, that what one regards as interruptions are precisely one's life."

--C.S. Lewis

"All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another."

--Anatole Frances

2.20.11

2011-02-21T00:04:00.002-07:00

I was going to write something about being frustrated with people who use punctuation incorrectly, or don't use it at all. And about people who capitalize things that don't need capitalizing. I would say bad spellers get on my nerves, but that would include me, and I'd rather exclude myself from this attack. Or lack of attack, since I'm not going to write about all these things. Instead, I will share with you a neat-o video about language, which simultaneously utilizes great typography.

Enjoy.

P.S. Do you remember how, in elementary and junior high school, teachers told you to never begin a sentence with "and" or "but"? I always disliked that rule. And I have made it a point to start sentences with one of those words (obviously not both, since a sentence can only begin with one word) as often as I like. And it's very liberating. But -- No. No "buts" about it.

2.16.11

2011-02-16T01:41:00.001-07:00

Happy Wednesday!

2.15.11

2011-02-15T18:50:00.000-07:00

I had a dream that I was a surrogate mother. After I gave birth (which, apparently, I was asleep during, because I don't remember it) I hadn't lost any weight. Oh the humanity! When I woke up (in real life) I thought, "I wonder how well surrogate mothers get paid. I could probably do that. I could wear a wedding ring in public so people didn't give me dirty looks."

I had a dream I was in love with a married man at work. He didn't know. His wife didn't know. I just watched him from behind my computer screen.

I had a dream that I got fired, so I moved to Paris and became a street performer. The pay was better than the job I got fired from.

I had a dream that I woke up before 10 a.m. and got out of bed.
Ha! That wasn't a dream. That was real life and I deem today a success because of it.

2.11.11

2011-02-11T03:10:00.000-07:00

Do you ever have those moments where you well-up with emotion? No, not the swelling-up kind, that usually consists of snot and tears. If you're a girl, it's no secret that you meet that occurrence often enough. And if you're a guy, well, this is a rhetorical question, which means, don't answer.

I'm talking about the welling-up of the good emotions, like happiness, joy, butterflies and sunshine and maybe a unicorn or two. That kind.

Today, I got that feeling. Maybe not the unicorns, but that's only because it was a gratitude-centered welling, which don't usually involve fictitious animals. And no, it had nothing to do with dating. Thank goodness. That's always a welling-up of hot air, or helium, or just normal air, in a gaudy colored balloon right next to a humongous cactus.

No, this emotional swelling was fueled by my parents. I just got to thinking about it (not for the first time, but that's beside the point) and my parents are freaking awesome. Not just normal awesome. Freaking awesome. I mean, have you met my parents? You can't deny it. They are. Freaking awesome.

I could list all the reasons why, but really now, that's just ridiculous. It's like asking that owl how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie-Pop. -- Actually, it's nothing like that. Because, one, he says it takes 3, and even if he didn't cheat in order to steal candy from a child, listing all the reasons my parents are spectacular would be more like trying to get to the center of the Tootsie-Pop, not asking how long it would take.

That analogy stinks.

But I digress.

In conclusion, my parents are no normal kind of awesome. They inspire greatness, but love me no matter how mediocre I am. They read, write, discuss, listen, play, teach and love learning. They are funny. Boy am I grateful for their humor.

I love my parents. And, just to add more evidence to my argument (although, really, who would dare argue with me?) their names rhyme. Eat that, children of other people.