irrational spontaneity

she buys the pillow before the bedding,
the shoes before the outfit

the dress before the occasion

and the boots before the snow

the photo before the memories,

the bedding before the husband

         she has the pillow before the husband.
         the outfit before the photo.
         and the memories before the snow.

she never does buy the eggs before the cake

 because

where's the spontaneity in that?

enough

once upon a time there was a girl
a girl who's closet was created by name brands and magazines
she was blonde.        although technically a brunette.
beyond her shirt logos and bleached hair, her
own solitude supressed her.
she wanted to be that girl in a magazine.

her choices were premeditated by her environment; agency was null.
it didn't matter her indifference for fall out boy; she listened.
because the radio ordered and friends observed
she disliked her reflection, frowning at her lack of bust. and her
unperfect face
her unsmooth hair and medium skin
the acne and eyebrows
her whole self did not belong in a magazine

how she envisioned herself transformed by needles and stitches
maybe one day she would be enough.


one day


she woke up.
she woke up and threw away the magazines and tight shirts
the advice yearned from tv
and kept instead memories and her mother's words


one day
   gradually d r i f t e d
 into the dawning of
today.

today there is a girl
a girl who listens to her tune of music
a girl who, on occasion, make in-routes to mainstream for a
vacation but is settled pleasantly in the
current of independence.
she wears boring v-neck shirts
and let's her hair air-dry
minimal make-up and sometimes no make-up.
because she does not need to mask the past
or her present
this girl knows, for better or worse,
her road, her choices, her choice,
her future.
this girl knows she is entitled
to agency and happiness and love, devoid of unrealistic images
unrealistic expectations, and the pessimism of self-doubt

happily ever after is on the way. but now happily is enough.
she is enough.

just for a dream

i bought laundry detergent that smells like you. 

i washed my sheets and pillowcases and your sweatshirt and my teddy bear in it. 

my hope... no-- my wish. . .

is that perhaps when i lie in your smell my dreams might be filled with you

because you've been unusually absent lately in my sleep,

and i really miss you. 

 nevermind that i bought 2 laundry detergents. . .


amidst all this nevermind, i know you wouldn't mind

you would chuckle.  and maybe wish for your sheets to smell

like me

around the world

and tonight we might not be so far apart

but see each other, even if just for a dream

the timely death of IKEA love

the story of Home Teacher man has a conclusion.  

a definite period { . } to end all the confabulation and confusion and chaos.

the world may be a small place, but it is even smaller in provo.  dangerously so for some dating endeavers. 

tonight my darling new-ish friend nigel invited me to go see Sherlock Holmes with two of her friends, who i discovered in the dark of the theater are my friends as well! {i love randomly hanging out with jill and abbey!}

nigel and i made yet another discovery, beyond our mutual friends.

we were swapping war stories of dating.  i couldn't wait to tell her mine about Baseball Player {emphasis on the 2nd word.  he may also be references as "gum stealer"} and Home Teacher man.  now that we were both moved out of the ward i felt safe in sharing my tale of an obvious mutual acquaintance.

i began with date #1 where Home Teacher man and i had a fantastic time, went to the volleyball game, watched (500) Days of Summer, and he put his arm around me.
nigel started giggling. 
 i ventured on to tell about disaster date #2, 3 weeks of no contact, the random invitation to go see Date Night where he lifted the arm rest and initiating hand holding, and his subsequent refusal to acknowledge our semi-friendship in any setting {even when he helped me "move" a t.v. which is another story entirely of awkwardness and frustration}. 

by this point nigel is nearly bursting at the seams with laughter, and gushes that last saturday (one week after Home Teacher man held my hand) he took her out, they went to a volleyball game, they watched (500) Days of Summer, and he put his arm around her. plus last night they cuddled again and he went in for the kiss... but she denied him. thank heavens for both of us.

oh my goodness.  

 he used the exact same move, on BOTH of us.
         we have been John Tucker-ed.
                    he's probably watching (500) Days of Summer with some other girl right now and canoodling her!
                          the questioning of what he was doing while not talking to me has clearly been answered.


that comical coincidence sealed our friendship, both due to the incredible irony, the stupidity of Home Teacher man to not think we would find out, and our pact {after unveiling his devious little actions} to refuse all future invitations and cast the line that we {nigel and i} are friends and know  all of each others' secrets.  including his dirty little secret of being a serial dater.

Home Teacher man, our IKEA love has come to an end. for good.  it shall never be recesitated again-- no glimmer on the monitor could ever induce me to shock that potential back into pulsation because your dirty little secret killed it stone dead.

ingrid in blog-form

meg.

she's darling, intriguing, and quite possibly the most impressive writer i have ever beheld.
thing is... i don't actually know meg. or know anyone who does. ali introduced us, but she doesn't know meg either.

meg is my ingrid in blog-form.
my blog soulmate.

meg appears to have sprung from the pages of a novel; her life in NYC {i daresay from my blog-stalking} is fascinating-- quaint, charming, and full of raw emotion. perhaps that is why i love her so. she's candid in a witty manner, not afraid to know what she feels and string it together with verbs and adjectives that paint scenery which fill your curiosity with sadness or laughter, empathetic pain or unknown liberation.
if you have an hour or two to read {because you can't stop after just one post-- she's better than Lay's potato chips} please join my obsession of

The Wild and Wily Ways of a Brunette Bombshell

or-so-i-feel.blogspot.com

gestation of 1.6 babies

gestation: the time between conception and birth.

i'm not pregnant.
in case anyone is worried reading this, i am NOT pregnant. i am not with child, i am not expecting, i am not "glowing", i am not fertilized.

but i have my own gestation of sorts. the time between saying goodbye and saying hello. only my gestation period is approximately 24 months, 104 weeks, 730 days, 17520 hours... however you want to look at it. i like the weeks, because it's easier to think i only have so many more mondays before i can say hello.

i was suppose to write this last thursday.  but we'll just pretend it's thursday as i'm writing this.

it's been a baby.  today {thursday-- we're pretending, remember?} it has been a baby.  the 9 month marker.  although it's only been 38 weeks, exactly 9 months ago marked the start of gestation.

9 months = 1 baby

24 months = 2.6 babies

... 24-9= 15...

thus we see by this proof that

15 months = 1.6 babies

1.6 babies. 

1.6 babies until potentially the happiest day of my life, yet.  

1.6 babies until the day and reunion my mind frequently reverts back to daydreaming. 

1.6 babies until i get to say hello not in an email, not on the phone, but a real hello. face to face.  smiles and all.

before i know it {i'm crossing my fingers with optimism} i'll have arrived at my "delivery date", the water will break {tears, of course}, and i will have in my arms what i have waited 2.6 babies for.  

i have 1.6 babies left.  that's only 5 trimesters to go.

gum

i am a piece of gum.  big bubble-tape bubble gum, spiraled in grape flavoring;  the kind that leaves traces of white chalk on fingers and lips and noses but is nevertheless enjoyed with satisfactory grins and oblivion to the inconspicuousness of powder dusted as evidence.  the kind that captures attention and is inspected while in line at the grocery store; the promise of packaging induces purchasing and subsequent consumption.

only,

i am a stolen piece of gum that wasn't  even savored before being removed effortlessly and stuck being a stupid ear to be forgotten.  you see, i, being the stolen-used-and-forgotten piece of gum glued to a hairy ear is fully aware when a new piece of gum is not only inspected but  purchased, and subsequently savored like a delicacy.  

and while i recognize that i was not ready to be savored in all my glory, that such a commitment to be chewed for lack of flavor or for loss of texture, i was expecting to be purchased, i was expecting more, and i was expecting etiquette rather than cavalier disregard and insensitivity.

i am just a piece of gum.  but with no hint of apology upon the lips that spat me out so quickly when I didn't want to be inserted in the first place... is, frankly... disconcerting and claim enough to retreat with heightened security into my wrapper once again, where no one will be able to pry loose the edges, try as they might.

that will be my only closure.   

i deserve to be savored.
     but today... today i just feel flavorless.

unwritten rule-- take 2

the unwritten rules... besides dating your home teacher there's another which is just as, if not more, vital to follow:

do NOT establish a relationship beyond the bounds of
TA and Student.

...but it's not my fault...

          and it's not really reality.

i'm breaking this unwritten rule in my mind.  subconsciously. i have had 3 dreams {in a row!} which despite their ridiculous scenarios of Home Depot music-videos and blow-up slides in a skeptical backyard, the major plot-line involves Student and i dating, holding hands, and. . . kissing. frankly it's weirding me out. and the weirdness has diseased not only my subconscious but has invaded my conscious thoughts as well.

i'm not gonna lie-- i think Student is cute. i find his constant singing adorable, his piano major interesting... but here's the danger.  because of my recurring dreams i have broken the cardinal rule and begun to find his emails endearing and his Frankl essay inspirational and telling about said Student's character.

we've always gotten along, Student and i.  we've had several interactions throughout the semester. but the dreams sprung from our interaction last thursday.

he emailed me, asking if i was going to hold a review session. he came. we chatted before, just him and i, while we waited for everyone else to come and the clock to strike 1:00. at the conclusion of the review session i invited those who had come in late to move to the conference room where i could catch them up.

Student came too.
      and sat next to me.
after 5 minutes everyone was caught up.  o n e by o n e they exited.
                but he stayed.
finding myself alone, in a conference room, with attractive Student caught me quite off guard.
                       gah!

while explaining in further detail a few concepts to be on the test the conversation evolved into prolonged casual chit chat not even relevant to psychology... which lasted longer than typical TA-student conversations, upwards of 15 minutes.

after mutual hesitation and an ever-so-slightly awkward pause we both gathered our  notebooks and pencils and laptops and made our way to the elevator, which we rode down together for 9 floors, conversing easily.  as we exited the metal chamber our footsteps carried us in the same direction; we resumed walking and talking together; he didn't stray from my side until finally bidding, "see ya later" as i entered the library and he ventured home to take a nap.

if that wasn't odd enough he sent me an email at phase 2 of 3 dreams which was really nice, basically telling me i'm the best and helped him pass the class.  every TA's dream.
i'm reading too much into things, i know, but it's because of my blasted cursed dreams that i have a hope he'll brake precedent and ask me out... because after tomorrow I won't technically be his TA anymore.  my subconscious is driving me crazy.  i don't actually think i want to go out with him but he's so charming in my dreams that my subconscious has tricked me into thinking i do...
confusion? yes.  incredibly so.

          after tomorrow the unwritten rule isn't so applicable...
but can i still break it if it was once in effect?

i would really appreciate not experiencing another home-teacher-eque disaster because of my dismissal of
 the unwritten rule.

marvelous discovery

There is something truly marvelous about being in a house, in complete solitude, that i have magestically discovered since staying at my sisters' vacant home in Orem.

•  freedom to walk around in my underwear, because I can (and believe me, I do, all the time)  
• a great big beautiful comfortable bed, waiting just for me
• unbridled access to the Disney Channel
• leaving the bathroom door open  w i d e
• eating whatever pertains to my fancy whenever my stomach grumbles
• singing in the shower, unrestrained because no one can hear me
• not brushing my teeth for a while after i wake up
• turning up the music, as loud as i want
• sitting in silence and contemplating things with no one to bother, no one to disturb, and nothing to invade my serenity.
• going to bed according to my whim and awakening to my own desire; not sunshine slinking through the dusty blinds, or obnoxious sniffling, or spritzing soiled laundry with Shout, or the clicking of the computer mouse, or the dull buzz of a blow-dryer, or a motorcyclist roaring past, or…
• doing the dishes when i have time
• not worrying about my food being eaten or thrown away
• coming and going as i please

my favorite, really, is the underwear part.  i highly highly recommend it.

it is wondrously liberating.

cosmos of men

Something has happened.  I'm not entirely sure what switch was flipped in the cosmos... but a switch has been flipped.  

There has been an upsurge of boys.  Random friends/ acquaintances texting me, calling me, messaging me on Facebook, asking me out... I don't know what the deal is.  I was perfectly content living my life filled with the non-existence of boys {excluding the creepers, which are in abundance} when they all conspired at once to attack!

I'll cut to the chase to the good stories worth mentioning:

#1.  Friday afternoon my phone rings.  It's James from work {a lot attendant who apparently stares at me-- for more info refer to post below entitled, "didn't your mother teach you not to stare?}.  I ignore it.  I have no idea why he is calling me-- we haven't talked in weeks and we only ever talk at work {the way he got my number is long and complicated and reverts back to my naivety}.  He doesn't leave a message.  Thank heavens.  But within seconds he texts me.

 "Becky... =)"

        Oh gosh...

"Hey James, sorry I missed your call.  What's up?"

"Hey, I wanted to ask if u wanted to go out some time with me??"

***First of all-- please spell our your words completely, and please refrain from the double question mark-- it makes me feel like you're shouting or something.

Immediate response: "He _ _  no boy!"
But... I hate being mean and everyone deserves one shot, right? (even though his shot was over day 1)

"Sure.  But it probably can't be for a couple weeks, I'm in the midst of finals and moving"

Low key and with a definite alibi of valid reasons why it won't be anywhere in the near future.  Sometimes I am brilliant. 

#2.  This one is really good.  For my frequent readers {all 5 of you} you might be floored.  I still am. 
After the busiest and most exhausting shift to date at the Depot {264 sales and $20,000!} I speedily drive to campus to study for and take my Living Prophets final.  Near the end of my cram session I get a text from none other than Home Teacher man.  Dun dun dun.  Okay.  I have not spoken to or seen Home Teacher man in 3 weeks. Why the text?  Most likely setting up when to come home teach my roommates and I.
Oh no.
Of course not.  The cosmos are conspiring and the men attacking.

"Hey Becky.  What are you up to tonight? Want to go see a movie or something?  It will be a good study break"

What?! Where is this coming from?!

My roommates were all either a. with their boyfriends/on a date with a weirdo, b. becoming region champion in BYU Women's Lacross, or c. studying.  So I took the bait.
After whipping out an excellent final and freshening up a wee bit he picks me up and away we are to see Date Night.  The evening is casual, our conversation pleasant and easy, he pays for my ticket, we laugh a lot and talk through the pre-previews and the previews.  Good.  This is fun, this is friendly, this is... wait, did he just lift up the arm rest? Uh... Where do you think this is going mister? We haven't spoken in 3 weeks and here you are removing the arm rest and opening up the potential to make a move on your home-teachee.  Gah!!!

Home Teacher man: "There's never a smooth way to do that"

No, there isn't.  What am I to do? Do I fold my arms? Do I cross my legs Indian style and hide my hands inside? Do I twiddle my thumbs? Do I tie my shoe?
Now I'm nervous and will be distracted the entire movie by where his hands are in respect to mine... Fortunately Steve Carell and Tina Fey quickly capture my attention and lighten the mood.  By the time Home Teacher man surreptitiously rests his hand on my leg 2/3 of the way through the movie it almost doesn't  register... until I realize... my hand is mere millimeters from his.  Next instant: I am holding hands with Home Teacher man. 
Dang it.  I had been doing so well at being bitter for weeks and thinking him a big fat jerk for not talking to me and now... now I'm holding his hand.  All I can think of is how weird this situation is.  If you had asked me that morning the probably of holding hands with Home Teacher man I would have said a big fat negative 73% and thrown a Banana Cream pie and laughed in your face. But here I am.

On the way out of the movie theater I run into a clear door, full-on.  He can't stop laughing at me.  Neither can I.  He walks me up to my apartment, thanking me for hanging out with him and gives the longest hug yet-- a full 5 seconds.

Okay.  We held hands.  No big deal.  I'm fine, truly, not all twitterpated and delirious with delusions of IKEA love.

But I'm curious to know what his excuse is for not even talking to me at Church or ward prayer after holding my hand and being the clear initiator.  I may never know because it could potentially be weeks before he shoots me a text.

What I do know is that I don't understand men, especially Home Teacher man.  And I'm out of energy to really care.  So to those boys who are in cohorts with the Cosmos, don't waste your time on me.  I've had my fill of men.  Would you kindly turn that switch back to it's rightful position? Thanks a heap.

the cookies are mocking me

Finals.  Finally.  Multiple grandiose examinations to determine my competence as a college junior are upon me.  They start tomorrow with the dawning of a bright spring sunshine (thank you Mother Nature-- the weather truly has been marvelous lately), The beginning of the end is on the near horizon, why, it's practically here!

I have been highly productive.  Potentially more productive the past 2 reading days than most weeks during the semester.  Go me.  Finding that motivation and curling up in the library to snuggle into some lengthy study guides... I worried I would never see the day.  But that was today.

After hours on campus my stomach rumbled, alerting me to the fact that I hadn't eaten much besides my morning toast, eggs, and a granola bar to hold me over, and it was now well past 6:00. Ali, Kelsey, and I rewarded ourselves with Thai food.  We devoured it like nobody's business.  Then we were granted fortune cookies.  Perfect! I need a good fortune for finals.

Perhaps my cookie will tell me...
       Your personal finances will be greatly improved
            Your talents will be recognized and suitably rewarded
                Your secret admirer will soon appear
                   A vacation by the sea is in store for you 
                      You will marry Denzel Washington

...something wonderful along those lines...

Get a load of this.  Not only was I flabbergasted but forced to conclude that my dear fortune cookie was taking delight in mocking my current situation.

"Cut through organizational impediments and get some real work done"

Curt.  Quite harsh, really, for a college student facing impending doom spread out over a week.  For your information, Mr. Fortune Cookie, I have been getting some real work done-- all day long!  And I'm going to do some more tomorrow.  Wish me luck... or feel free to mock again.  Darn fortune cookie.

the whole enchilada

WARNING: The Surgeon General cautions that this post may contain an overload of information. Read at your own risk. If your love for me {or curiosity} supersedes such risk, proceed with caution.

As a preface, I have been wanting to do this blog post for some time—get all the thoughts that jumble in my head out there! And I might as well share it on my blog rather than stowed away in a little file on my laptop. So prepare yourself for the unveiling of things about me you probably would never guess. And please {in sincerity} don’t mock.

FeTiSHeS

• Nail Polish. I kid you not, I have upwards of 40 nail polish bottles. I have every shade of the rainbow, and keep finding more that I want! It’s a dangerous fetish but fortunately not expensive to maintain. 
• Purses/Bags. Here’s where I get in trouble. I love bags. Big bags, little bags, casual hippy-esque, chic and classic, leather, suede, canvas, multicolored, shiny, matte, tassels, ginormous zippers, animal print, textured… I love them. And my self-control is extremely limited when it comes to bags, especially when they have the red tag of “SALE” on them. Oh heavens.  The justification I race through that this bag in my arms is a necessity, not a strong desire, is somewhat ridiculous.  In the end I typically conclude I simply must have it. 
• Bras and Underwear.  Granted I did work at scandalous Victoria’s Secret for 6 months and received round about 5 bras for FREE (to give a "testimonial" about it and promote sales.  Oh, I miss the free-bies) but I’m quite positive I have more bras than most girls. It would take me weeks to run out of bras to wear before doing laundry. And it would take me even longer to run out of clean underwear because my drawer is stuffed to the gizzard with cute panties, in addition to the stock pile at my parents’ home. 
• Slippers… especially moccasins. A good pair of slippers is like nothing else. Moccasins have a special place in my closet (not to worry, I only have 1 pair at the moment). I wear slippers everywhere I can get away with it. I am a slave to comfort now-a-days. 
• Scarves.  It all started Freshman year- the scarf for fashion, not the function of keeping you warm from the fall chill. Now I have too many. Several have been gifts from distant lands, i.e. Ireland, Nepal, Thailand, but I have a serious fetish. My scarf rack is overflowing.
• Cardigans.  It’s not that I have a million, I am just instantly drawn to them in stores. They seem to plead from their hanger, “Buy me!”. Usually I resist.  I just love admiring them.
  
• Blogging.  I’m not sure what I did before this. I love writing. Love love love. Relaxing, enjoyable... And although I could never be an English major, this is my way of expressing myself. The great secret about blogging that no one ever admits is that when someone comments on a blog post it makes you feel somewhat vindicated, all warm and fuzzy inside, and inspires you to write again. 
• Art History. I took Art History for AP credit in high school. It changed my life. I love art. I even considered being an art history major… until I realized I’d have to be fluent in another language. I’ve resolved instead to just travel the world and see all the beautiful art the world has to offer—in monument, museum, and nature. 

PHoBiaS

• Feet. I dislike feet touching me. Period. Naked feet, sock feet… they’re all just gross. The only exceptions to this are: babies, and Hunter. I’ve made several momentous strides in progress towards overcoming this irrational fear. But please… don’t touch me with your feet. I won't find it funny.
• The Safety of my Phone/iPod. This fear started when I heard the stories—“My phone fell in the gutter as I got out of the car”, “My phone fell {out of my bra while on my prom date} into the toilet right as I flushed it”. So every time I enter the bathroom I secure my phone—make sure it’s not in the back pocket of my jeans or anywhere else it could tumble into the treacherous toilet water. And when I scurry past air vents or gutters, I clutch my phone or ipod tightly. 
• Spiders. Who doesn’t have this fear? I mean, really. I’m not paralyzed with horror as I use to be—once while seated upon the toilet at the age of 4 I spotted a Daddy Long Leg creep in the corner. I ran shrieking from the scene in my frilly Care Bear panties, never to return for 7 years—I stubbornly refused to enter that bathroom. Now upon the sighting of a little 8 legged monster I typically dance around in apprehension with little screeches escaping my clenched lips, focusing intently to end its sad hairy life. I do fear that if I were ever to see a tarantula in the wild… my heart might stop beating. 
• Murky Deep Water.  This too has stemmed from stories: people swimming in Lake Powell when they felt the slimy mass of a long-ago dead body decomposing in the murky water; or took a late night swim and bumped something eerie and the next day the Officials fished out the missing body of so-and-so; or the 6 foot catfish that reside in the Hoover Dam that have been altered by radiation that could swallow me whole! If I can’t see my surroundings in water I don’t want to go in—because there could be a decomposing body or some giant creature with jaws gaping open, prepared to take a nibble or a really big bite.  Frankly I’m not quite sure I could recover from that scare. 
• Monsters in my Closet. I know it's childish and most people grow out of this fear by the age of 10 but... I saw a hauntingly scary movie, "They", and since that night 5 years ago go through the same routine, every night {when sleeping at my parents' house}: flick on the light, scan the closet, hurriedly close the door, hit the light-switch, and hop into bed. Don't worry, I learned my lesson and have stopped watching scary movies.

FaVoRiTe oBSeSSioNS.  *My current obsessions are so broad and numerous they must be divided into subgroups: food, media, men, artists, and attire.  

   - FooD -

•  Double Stuff Oreos. I love my oreos.  The creation of the double stuff was, in my opinion, revolutionary.  As a child… okay, even a teenager, I would split the chocolate cookies apart, lick the cream consistency of Crisco and sugar into non-existence, and then either a. throw away the “leftover” cookies OR b. {now this was when I was very young} place the cookies back together and sneakily place the no-filling-oreo at the bottom of the cookie jar, below the “complete” oreos (so no one would know of my mis-deed until all the other oreos were gone or merely chocolate cookies).  In my maturity I have grown to appreciate the entire oreo-- cookie and cream combined in a sensational symphony of lard and calories. Every time I split one apart I make a wish- if the cream is on the left then my wish will come true.  It’s a proven fact. Oreos make any sadness better momentarily and when dunked in milk {with a fork!} or globbed with peanut butter … party in my mouth.   Mmmm. 
• Thai Food.  I wrote an entire blog post about my love for Thai food.  Simply stated, if I had to choose one meal for the rest of my existence it would be yellow curry and mangoes and sticky rice.  I never tire of the sweet spicy goodness.     
• Breakfast food.  Growing up my dad made breakfast every Saturday morning-- it was the best waking up the smell of warm buttery crepes or whatever was cooking.  The concept of breakfast food being strictly for breakfast doesn’t really apply in my household- we eat breakfast food any time of the day or night we so desire.  My favorites include: German pancakes, Crepes, Ebelskievers, Crème Brule French toast, sausage, orange juice, and fruit. 
• Homemade Chocolate Chip Cookies.  Prior to college I disliked chocolate chip cookies.  Don’t ask why, they just weren’t my thing.  Upon moving away I suddenly craved, and I mean craved, chocolate chip cookies.  Perhaps a warm cookie with a cool glass of milk symbolized the comfort of home subconsciously but since then I consistently crave chocolate chip cookies.  If I come upon a homemade chocolate chip cookie, I must indulge. 

   - THe MeDia - 

• Grey’s Anatomy.  Seriously? Seriously.  How often do I think Meredith and Derek and Bailey and Christina are real people? How has Grey’s been my one true tv show for years now? How do I identify with the characters and situations?  Why are my Thursday nights devoted to Grey’s? I plan to answer such questions in an entire blog post because a miniscule paragraph simply will not suffice.  I’m slightly obsessed, I admit… but how can I not be obsessed with McDreamy and McSteamy and the Twisted Sisters and “really old guy” and boys stuck in cement or babies with their hearts beating on the outside of their chest? When I realize it’s not real, I wish it was real, and that I were a part of Seattle Grace Hospital. 
• Glee.  The music, the dancing, the love triangles.  Mr. Shoester and Emma? Adorable.  And although the season was painstakingly slow in their progress with Will’s crazy lying wife and Emma’s gym-short-shorts fiancé, the kiss at the season finale made it all worth it.  Glee nights are so fantastic, and it starts back up this Tuesday! I can’t wait. 
• Pride & Prejudice.  Artistic and beautiful.  One of my favs.  It flows and inspires the hope of Mr. Darcy in all his wonderfulness. No matter how many times I’ve seen it my heart quickens as they argue passionately in the rain, it melts as they walk towards one another in the early dawn, and a smile can’t help but spread across my face as he admits his perfect and incandescent happiness to call her Mrs. Darcy.
• (500) Days of Summer. Since watching this a few weeks ago my thoughts have been filled with the glorious soundtrack {officially addicted to “Sweet Disposition” by Temper Trap} and I replay scenes in my mind… “Darling, I don’t know how to tell you this… but there’s a Chinese family in our bathroom”… I want to go to IKEA not only to shop but to fall in love because of this movie, as well as have the most adorable vintage-retro dresses and kiss by the copy machine.  I want all things this movie has to offer, besides the heartache.  I identify with characters and I feel that I am Summer to the extent of her casual happiness but general indifference regarding dating. 
• Disney. I love Disney.  Classic favs: Beauty and the Beast (I nominate Best Kiss award because a. they actually knew each other for longer than a day, b. they loved the person, not the persona, and c. upon lip lock fireworks go off AND the castle and servants go back to their original version and it’s all happy and sunshine-y and magical- Disney at its finest!), The Little Mermaid (I watched this so many times it broke the VHS), Aladdin (everything is great), Robin Hood (“seize the fat one!” and "be gone long one"), The Sword in the Stone (the owl and wolf kill me! plus Madam Mim!), Monster’s Inc. (I just adore this movie and want to adopt Boo... and Mike Wasouski), Toy Story 2 (Zurg—need I say more?), and Enchanted (entertaining, endearing, and you guessed it- enchanting).  

     - MeN -

• Denzel Washington.  I have great love for this black man.  Hunter and I have an agreement that if Denzel comes along, he’ll be alright on his own while I run off with a man old enough to be my grandpa.  Did you know he has the most symmetrical face? Perhaps that’s why I love him so.  Oh Denzel…
• Patrick Dempsey.  In his character as either McDreamy or Prince Charming, he is perfect.  I just love his puppy dog eyes and darling smile… and the hair.  Can’t forget the hair.  He also has such a soothing voice.  I get excited when State Farm commercials come on and I get to hear his sexy voice.

   - aRTiSTS -

• Ingrid Michaelson.  I really don’t have words to convey my deep love and admiration for Ingrid.  I’m naming one of my daughters after her, if that says enough.  I listen to her more than anything else-- 95% of the time she is blasting in my car.  All of her songs are different and they all convey so much.  Some days I have an Ingrid-themed day.  Like when I listened to “Giving Up” on repeat the entire ride down from Sandy to Provo.  Or when I listened to constantly and then bought the piano music for “Sort Of”.  She heals me in a way only music can.  Whether I’m happy or sad or mad, she’s the voice I love to hear and the lyrics that make everything better.
• The Fray.  Oh Isaac Slade, please marry me.  You are perfect- you sing like an angel, play the piano, guitar, drums, and probably every other instrument known to man.  If I really did marry Isaac after I converted him, our relationship would consist of him singing to me, specifically “Look After You”, “Never Say Never”, “Happiness”, and “How to Save a Life”.  I wouldn’t mind that life. 

    - aTTiRe -

• Nautical.  I don't know what flipped the switch but I can't get enough of blue and red stripes, plus anchor jewelry.  Additionally I have been scouring the internet for a sailor-esque swimsuit that doesn't make me look like a skankatronic hoebag. No luck thus far...
• Boy Clothing.  It's a simple fact that boys have more comfortable clothing-- loose, soft, and typically less expensive.  My roommates introduced me to the wondrous pack of 5 boy V-neck shirts for round about $9.  Seriously?  A single simple cami can cost you up to $12.  Fashion industry skewed?  I believe so.  Therefore I am taking advantage of pricing on boy clothing as well as the astounding comfort of such clothing. 
• Retro and Vintage.  Some moments I long for the 50's- not the social role or women or the White Picket Fence ideal, but the clothing.  Cute flattering pin-up dresses, darling swimsuits, curls and pearls and red lipstick! The fashion industry has evolved from polka-dot swim-dresses to disgusting monokinis with giant cut outs of just about every part of your body you would want to cover up with a one-piece in the first place. Ai!  Blast you fashion designers. I do love vintage though.  Which brings me to my other current obsession: online shopping.  I never buy anything, but I love looking at www.modcloth.com and www.shabbyapple.com.  Don't look if you fear coveting, because guaranteed you will covet one or five or twenty dresses. 

*** COMING SOON***

Ridiculous talents and pet peeves.

Stay tuned!