god bless us everyone

i think i have a cavity. every time i eat something i feel a twinge in one of my molars. it's possible that this is because my diet consists entirely or sweets. i woke up with a stomach ache last night and realized that it was because i had drunk a 32oz. cherry pepsi and eaten an entire bag of salt and vinegar potato chips before bed. normal. stress-ball. death. chubby.

hugs are warmer when you're in them

I just realized that is is one of my last three days of classes at BYU for time and all eternity. I woke up from a little nap in the library with the panicked realization that my days are numbered. why have i not thought about this until right now? and why am i napping, blogging and listening to celine dion christmas music in the library instead of writing a paper or having an anxiety attack. so far my panic is being kept at bay by fat free fig newtons, the sweet sounds of celine and the promise of popcorn and dr. pepper for dinner. i'm afraid that any time i try to sleep for the next week I'll wake up with this same weighty panic animal sitting on my chest, just waiting to spring. seriously, how did this happen without me noticing? granted i've been at BYU for an obscenely long time and i guess i thought that there would always be another semester, more vending machine bingeing, and endless nights in the good ol' hbll.

open mouth staring

I like to consider myself a kind person. However, when faced with an overly chatty person at the checkout counter I become cold, callous, and unresponsive. Unsuspecting cashiers release the Kraken of fury inside me with their relentless attempts to make small talk. No, I do not want to talk to you about my Thanksgiving travels. What I do with my brownie mix is none of your business. Why are you asking about my day? WE DON'T KNOW EACH OTHER! I will politely answer at least one question with a 'fine' or a 'sure', but anything beyond that makes me uncharacteristically and irrationally homicidal. I have tied to figure out why I have such a huge problem with small talk over the exchange of money for goods. So far no acceptable reasons have surfaced.

one thousand gum wrappers

“I find dating exhausting and uninteresting, and I really would like to skip over the hours of conversation that you need to get up to speed on each other’s lives, and the stories I’ve told a million times. I just want to get to the watching TV in bed. If you’re on a date with me, you can be certain that this is what I’m evaluating you for: how good is it going to be, cuddling with you in bed and watching Damages?”

—Sarah Silverman, from The Bedwetter

thank you sarah for letting me know that i'm not alone.

when my skin turns into glue

at the risk of sounding schizophrenic i'll tell you about a new friend that started to form in my mind today. he's a donkey from bulgaria whose greatest desire in life is to become a celebrated poet. he sits in cafes with his notebook and orders cup after cup of tea while waiting for inspiration to come. he researches daily and reads books of poetry. so far his favorites are Ovid, Emily Dickinson, and Jay-Z. he love haikus and epic poems, limericks and iambic pentameter. but he has yet to write a single poem. for some reason his notebook contains only tea stains and a doodle of the solar system which still includes Pluto because he doesn't believe in science. he believes in love and beauty and truth and the tooth fairy (seriously, she gave him 3 quarters and a dime for his last tooth). for now we must wait for the prose which fills his sensitive donkey heart to spill onto the page and into the annuls of history.

elation and dispair, thrill and terror

over the last week i have been thinking about all the things i would do with just a little bit more money.
here is a selection of the things that i would do:
buy at least 10 more coats. get a scooter. or maybe two scooters because it's always more fun with a friend. get nicer sheets. put snow tires on my go cart of a car. not work while going to school. buy more sparkly things like nail polish, earrings and sequin covered pants. turn up the heat whenever i want. get my hair done more than once every six months. fly first class. have a dog. shopping spree at sephora. cook more. visit my mom, alot. wear daily contacts. have a friendly and gentle personal trainer. take my sister to disneyland. get a diamond facial just to see what it's like to be j-lo. buy music.
i could go on, but that would be obnoxious.

i am the monster hiding under your bed

Happy Halloween!

Few people are aware that Mrs. Kennedy is a big Bjork fan.


Wednesday Adams and Jackie Kennedy

everybody scream

i love halloween. i love that everyone has permission to be someone else for halloween even if that someone else is a total weirdo. I have had some great halloweens and as i was thinking about them i decided to chronicle my halloweens for the last 6 years.

2005 - token 80's chick


2006 - token leopard/kitty?


2007 - Cher


2008 - as a missionary, clown


2009 - as a missionary, vampire


2010 - babushka or russian grandma


the last one was by far the most fun. this year's costume is sitting in my closet just waiting to be put on later tonight.
picture to follow

he could always make that guitar buzz like it was 1989

too many things require passwords. i mean i guess i see the point of having them, but get tired of them. i feel like sometime soon i'm going to have to use a password to use campus bathrooms, just to make sure that i'm actually a student.
"she doesn't even go here!
do you go here?
no, i just have alot of feelings.
okay, then go home."
sometimes i accidentally type my password into the username bar and it completely freaks me out. i delete as fast as possible and look around to make sure no one saw. partly because i'm embarrassed of my password, and partly because i'm paranoid that someone will log in to my pinterest and go on an unauthorized pinning spree. actually seeing the password is jarring because all i ever see are those little dots instead of the letters that spell my moderately juvenile passwords. seeing them spelled out makes me cringe al little bit, and wish that i were a little more creative.

silver never gets golder

there are few things worse than the feeling of wishing you could take something back that you've said or done. the regret swirls and churns in my stomach. i think of all the million other things i could have possibly done instead. then i sit and wait for the text to be read or the thing to be discovered. words come out of your mouth and try as you might it is impossible to get them to go back in there. emails cruelly refuse to alter their course through cyber space and will not come back no matter how much you beg. i think before you send a text your phone should ask whether or not you really want to send it. maybe more than once actually. maybe just my phone should do that. but one of the perks of being shallow is that i don't end up feeling half as bad as i should for nearly as long as is decent. see, i'm already over it. thanks internet!

maybe i was born

you know those days when your pants are falling off, and you hate your outfit but you can't go home and change, and you feel like crawling into a hole until you can become attractive again? I'm having one of those days. I had a legitimate hair disaster this morning. crazy. frizzy. out there. gross. still falling out. the aforementioned hair disaster made me late for school which made me as mad as my apathy will allow. i have a paper due at 3 pm today that i have only done 20% of the research for. it is 9:44 am and i'm writing this instead of writing my paper. yeah, i'm having one of those days.

a victim of excess words

should i be concerned that my hair is making a mass exodus from my head? if my hairs are deciding that their only option is to abandon ship, i think that means there's something seriously wrong with me. i mean what kind of life can a hair expect to have on it's own? it's a cruel world out there for a hair, lying on the bathroom floor of chance. and i'm not sure they really want to leave because i find most of them clinging to my sweaters, and coats, and shirts, and pants, and in my socks. my hairs want to be near me but they don't want to be attached anymore? wait, this is starting to sound like a cheesy breakup. OMG is my hair breaking up with me? i can't believe this! after all we've been through together? but seriously though.

oh no

a girl in my class looks just like chuckie from Rugrats. I have had multiple classes with this girl and have always wondered why she looked so weird to me. it's because her face looks like a cartoon. and not just any cartoon, a creepy cartoon. she doesn't have red hair, but it doesn't detract from the eerie resemblance. i'm even a little mad that I'v had to remember this cartoon. i'm sure i liked it when i was little but i can't understand why. weirdly drawn little babies running around and talking is super weird voices. does anyone else remember that they all had raspy voices like Marge Simpson? yuck.

hey mom look, an elevator!

Apparently ears are what make us human. I have learned this from sci-fi and fantasy movies. Whenever a distinction between humans and non-humans must be made, the ears are the first thing to go. The top of the ear goes from round to pointed and BAM, you know that there must be something magical/alien/mutated/fantastic/evil about this dude. I came to this realization last night while watching The Green Lantern and I saw this guy.



Never mind that his skin is purple and his eyebrows are doing something crazy, it's really the ears that give him away as an alien. Getting up close and personal with the purple people eater here made me think about all other pointy eared creatures I've seen in other movies I got confused about how to tell them apart. Luckily, I came across this handy guide online which has helped to clear some things up.

Sunday

I think I'm afraid of living a life that's too small. A life where no one knows who you are or cares what you're doing. I live in fear of being disconnected from other people. I just want a life that's full, but not so big that other people look at me too much, and not so small that no one remembers my name. The phrase "quiet desperation" haunts me.

The Adventures of Snort

Snort is the name of my right foot. Snort has always been an outgoing sort of foot who likes to explore. He likes to run and jump, dance and skip, play and wiggle. Snort and his faithful pal Lefty have been all over and gotten into all kinds of mischief together. As the years passed by, Snort and Lefty grew and became strong and skilled at various activities such as wiggling their toes. While Lefty had always been slightly bigger, Snort was faster and the first to jump into anything new or exciting. After many years of toe tapping and work and fun, a gradual change began to take place within Snort. His big toe began to move ever so slightly towards the other toes. Big Toe wanted to join the party that the other toes were having, and who can blame him really? Little did Big Toe know, however, the consequences of his party animal ways. A small and pointy bump began to grow below Big Toe on the side of Snort. Now Ol' Pointy was an irritable, hot headed sort of bump who hated hard work. Whenever a long road was walked or a fancy shoe was worn, Ol' Pointy would complain and whine and ruined the fun for everyone. 

To be continued ...

Ever ever?

How much is enough? Enough faith? Enough time? Enough money? Enough pudding? I don't think that any of us really know. This concept of having a thing in such quantities that you don't want or need any more of it seems foreign and totally unrealistic. How do you get to the point where you are completely satisfied? And should we ever get to that point? If you are satisfied do you cease to exist because you cease to strive or progress? All anyone can say is that "Enough is enough" and I guess the only ones who understand what that means are the ones who have a limitless supply of pudding. 

Call me Morticia

I realize that I'm developing an unhealthy relationship with food. I can't seem to think of anything I'm willing to ingest. Part of this problem is likely the result of sustaining myself off of the contents of vending machines for the last 3 weeks, but I don't think that means I deserve to be punished in this way. Where has the joy of eating gone? I go to the grocery store and buy things but then inevitably the next day I find myself sadly lacking in anything edible. Even treats have completely lost their appeal. I'm the kind of person who usually loves food which makes my current predicament all the more disturbing. I love to try new food, I like eating food, I love cooking food but all of these activities no longer hold any appeal or satisfaction. All I want is for the talented and charming Barefoot Contessa, also known as Ina Garten, to come live in my house and make me delicious meals full of ridiculously expensive and exotic ingredients that will dazzle my taste buds. Ina's publicist was kind enough to inform me that she's not likely to be moving in any time soon.

Bulova

it's 1:36 PM and i just realized that i've had my watch on upside down all day. this just confirms that my watch is nothing more than an accessory. there was a time when i wore a watch everyday for the purpose of keeping track of the time. apparently those times have long gone and been replaced with a need to accessorize rather than be on time. the little hands on my watch are too ambiguous. they say 'right now it is sometime between 1:50 and 1:55' instead of offering me the concrete assurance that at this very moment it is exactly 1:53. i find that i mistrust my little watch, whereas i place complete confidence in my computer or phone to tell me the absolutely correct time according to the rotation of the planet, position of the satellites, and wind conditions.
in the same moment i realized my total lack of watch reading skills i also noticed that the lotion i use has glitter in it. this is not the first day, or week that i have used this lotion. all this time i've been covering my body in tiny bits of something shiny and had no idea. i feel like i'm 13 again. maybe i'll go get some lipsmackers chapstick and a scrunchy and just go with.

back to back

this morning my favorite pen ran out of ink. this pen has been my faithful and favored writing instrument for the last two and a half years. when i discovered this wonderful pen by chance in a bookstore i promptly bought ten of them. slowly, on-by-one the other nine disappeared. some were stolen by greedy hands. others gave in to an unfortunate structural flaw by breaking in half under pressure. still others were lost to the abbyss of my bag or fell out of my planner. i jealously gaurded that one last pen, careful not to let it got lost. i carefully tucked it away in the same place after every use so that i wouldn't misplace it. i even bought other, more inferior pens to use sometimes and make my beloved pen last just a little longer. it's hard describe just exactly why this pen was so great. Maybe it how small and light it was, maybe it was how finely it wrote. either way, i will miss my pen friend who stayed with me through thick and thin, writing endless notes and sometimes even thoughtful musings and doodles. thank you for sticking it out till the end and farewell.

naked conversations with cats

few things make me happier than quail season. i love seeing them running around in the bushes and across streets. they're so charming and i think the fact that they can't fly is endearing. i love the little feather on their foreheads. quails are definately birds with style.
i've loved quails ever since i was a little girl when a family of them lived in our yard for a few days every spring. their return was so exciting to me because they were exotic and adorable. one of my brothers would spot them in the yard and yell for everyone to come see and we would stand watching them in awe from behind the sliding glass doors. one year a couple of the babies fell into the pool and drowned and i cried over their sad, bloated little bodies. they had trusted me enough to come stay in my yard where they thought they would be safe, and i had failed them. when we got a pet cat they stopped coming and i resented them for scaring away my little friends with fancy headdresses.

tinkling the ivories

You know how there was that really awkward moment in About a Boy when the crazy mom starts singing Killing Me Softly with her eyes closed? Well I had that same kind of uncomfortable moment today in class of all places. I walked into my last class of the semester to find that someone was playing the piano that sits in the front corner of the lecture hall. I thought that this was odd, but they were playing beautifully and although it was weird I didn't mind so much. Then a minute or two later the singing started. It was soft at first as our impromptu serenader scanned their audience furtively to gauge the reaction. Then slowly the volume increased as did the passion and enthusiasm. Their eyes closed as they belted out the lyrics. This is when I started to squirm. It was too intimate and soulful for the this room with its bright florescent lights and beige carpet. Please, please stop I thought as the hum of conversation in the room continued in spite of the heart, and occasionally ear, wrenching ballad of the middle aged Sarah Barreilles impersonator singing her heart out. I wanted to laugh and cry and leave the room all in one uncomfortable moment.

scratchy sasquach

To the girl who I have seen wandering campus without shoes on:

Do you not have shoes? Are you on a shoe fast? Is this some form of protest? Do your feet get severely claustrophobic if you wear shoes? Do you have an irrational fear that if you put shoes on you won't be able to take them off? Did you have a bad experience in your childhood with shoes? Perhaps you lost one shoe and decided to just go shoeless instead of only wearing one? I hope no one stole your shoes. Did you lose a bet? Are you trying to feel more connected to Mother Earth by removing any barriers between you (do socks not count as a barrier)? Are you just in so big of a hurry in the mornings that you forget shoes altogether? I'm obviously very concerned about your lack of footwear and possessed with a desire to know why you choose to forgo what I feel is the basic right of all human beings to wear shoes.

slice

i would like to know the thought process that preceeds a worm's decision to leave the grassy ground in favor of the sidewalk when it rains. i genuinely feel sad when i see their little bodies writhing on the cement. today when the side walk was so full that i couldn't avoid stepping on them, i wondered if this was possibly some kind of mass suicide. I could just see a charasmatic, yet deranged worm named Gary convincing his fellow worms that they must drag their bodies to the sidewalk in order to await the arrival of the mystical Shoe which brings nirvana.

when i was a litle girl i would occasionally visit my great-aunt fawn in the summer. we would go to the pool together and on our way there, sometimes there would be worms on the sidewalk who had fled the water from the sprinklers. she and i would pick them up off the sidewalk and throw them back into the grass. she told me that we had to save them because they didn't know any better and couldn't save themselves. everytime i see worms on the sidewalk i think of aunt fawn and i want to throw them all back.

Excuse me. I'm sorry, but can I sit there? Thank you. My name is Amelia. Nice to meet you. No, I'm from California. Southern California, in the desert. It's called Hemet. There are lots of cows there. I don't really know, there are just lots of dairies. I've never really liked cows very much, they smell. And they make me nervous. Why? Well, I know it's weird, but I'm always afraid that I'll end up that one unlucky person that you hear about on the news that is killed in a freak accident where a seemingly docile cow charges. I know it's completely irrational, I feel the same way about ducks and geese. I like feeding them, but when they swarm around me I get scared and have to go back to the car. You too?! Well that makes me feel better. Where are you from? Oh, really? I've never been to that part of the country. I've always wanted to go to South Dakota just to see if it really exists. Well, this is my stop so i have to get off now. See you. Good luck with the ducks.

really?

So I wrote this yesterday to express my feelings about January.


Oh January, I
Hate you so much, I
Simply wish that you would
Die



This is why i don't write poetry more often.

oh you

The faintest traces of red nail polish around my cuticles are the only remnants of the manicure I had last week. A nice Asian man with a a soft voice and long thumbnails trimmed, buffed, and polished my nails for me. I was grateful to him for not trying to talk to me too much or commenting on the rough callus on one of my thumbs. As we sat with the California sunshine streaming through the windows he tells me I look like my sister who is a regular at his salon. He asks me if it’s my first time there, which it was not. I compulsively told him that I don’t live there, that I was visiting from another state. From Utah, I added sheepishly. I tell him how it’s cold there and I’m happy to be in the desert where I don’t have to where a coat in December or worry about snow in my shoes. He told me that he lived in Canada for six years and then in New Jersey for eight years, so he understands about the snow. We commiserated about how hard it is to shovel snow. He used to work nights, he said, and would have to shovel the lane and paths at his house in Canada after he got off his shift early in the morning. I felt bad for him because he had to work nights and found myself wondering what his job was and if his English was as good back then. Then I started to wonder about how he came to be a manicurist in a small California town and why he left his country of origin. I don’t feel like I can ask him questions about his personal life since we only met seven minutes ago and after another ten minutes our relationship will be over. But I like the man with a soft voice and rough hands who asks polite questions and compliments the nail polish that I brought from home. I found that I wanted him to like me. I wanted him to think that I was different from all the ladies who come in for full sets of acrylic nails with long, square, white tips. “I’m different!” I say with my half smiles that reach my eyes and unassuming, plain nail polish. I have thought about you soft voice man. I hope you liked me.

@)!!

Dread. D. R. E. A. D. Dread. I'm sweating while it begins to creep over me. As I prepare to leave my California hideaway my heart is sinking. Now that I've enjoyed a little domesticity, the thought of retuning to my the oblivion of living in one room and spending mindless hours in front of my computer each day is more depressing than ever. My dreams are filled with anxiety I can only barely remember but that put me on edge for hours after I wake up. Man, I sound like a real whimpy whiner! I recently discovered that I really like to complain. But doesn't everyone? Who doesn't like to slap on the hyperbole every once in a while and proclaim to anyone who will listen "My life is worse than yours!!!" I'll have to work on that. I don't typically bother to make New Year's resolutions, but maybe for a few weeks I'll remember that I am really really lucky.