my underwear will tell me

today i bought something. 
something that is useful.
something i did need.
but mostly...
something to re-live my childhood.


when i was 8 i had days-of-the-week underwear.  they were tweety bird.  i was ob-sessed with tweety bird {although, to this day, i'm still unsure of tweety birds gender.... boy, yes?}

wednesday was most definitely the cutest-- purple plaid with tweety bird super-imposed.
confession: i wore this pair on days other than wednesday... because i loved it so. and also, because sunday was boring {but, since they were my panties no one knew. besides me}.
it was quite a sad day when i discovered, remorsefully, my cheeks had outgrown my beloved underwear.  i have been without underwear to dictate the days of the week {aside from wednesday being worn on other days} for over a decade.

but now.
now, once again, i have days-of-the-week underwear!
if, perchance, it slips my mind mid-day if it's monday or thursday, all i need do is look to my underwear. i already have a pair that are my favorite-- tuesday. they have little vinyl records.
plus, these underwear have some lace for pa-zaz.

grown-up days-of-the-week underwear.

it's going to be a great week.

amicable lunch

gum-stealer did a number on me.
i admit.
the prospect of trusting someone else-- not appealing.

after not communicating for over a month {since his cavallier disregard for my feelings}

he broke up with the girl
and a few weeks later
texted me.

saturday:

gum-stealer: 'hey becky! are you up in sandy for the weekend?"

me: "nope. i am down in provo.

gum-stealer: "darn. well i could like to take you to dinner sometime soon so i can talk to you about some stuff. could that work?"

hours later, i respond:

me: "talk to me about what stuff? honestly, i'm not sure"

today:

gum-stealer: "sorry i didn't get back to ya last night... but i wanna talk to you about how i screwed things up between us. i feel terrible that i basically dropped what we had do easily... i really messed up"

ya think?!

after much thought...
       saturday
            we're going to lunch. 

this will be my closure. i want to end things amicably, as friends.
and i want to hear his story. 
and perhaps... just a little bit of groveling.

kidding {about the groveling}.

regardless of his apology speech {which, i'm sure he's planned out} and grand plan to win me back, i will never trust him again. and i am going to tell him that-- in a friendly i-forgive-you-but-don't-think-for-a-millisecond-you'll-get-a-second-chance sort of way.
i sincerely hope that over food {and him taking the check as penance, of course} i can try to remember him in a better light than the shadow he cast upon himself.

the rushing of time beneath this bridge

you are across the way.
opposite banks. we willingly crossed that bridge,
treacherous water beneath.

we idealized its ease;
surely
we will shout across the rushing stones and laps of water
perhaps send a paper airplane
or a bottle.

in reality
there are nose-dives and crashes
or
much too much noise to be heard

the banks are receding
            like my heart

the chilly water is encroaching,
drowning my skin.

can you hear?

my cry echos off rocks
to fall like silent dew upon
your shoulders
its desperation muted by
the rushing
      the rushing of time

the bank is steeping.

my recollection of

why

why we chose this path
is crumbling with
the dirt

what if
i found the courage
to escape, to extricate myself
to explore a
field of brightly lit poppies?

but then

i could not guide the landing of
your message
and i could not shout across the way

mission accomplished

TIME: 1:36 a.m.

STATUS: mission accomplished; the TOP SECRET package has been delivered.

  

DETAILS: the mission was nearly thwarted as civilians threatened the discovery of the secret agents. only through incredible stealth {sunglasses & being aware of intruders} were their identities protected. both TOP SECRET packages arrived at their destination of the allied forces' residence.

 

COURSE OF ACTION: agents are ordered to recover from the strenuous and stressful late-night mission.  once heart beats have returned to normal, said agents will be eligible for future reactivity into the field. contact must be established with the allied forces prior to further investigation.

cupcake heaven

i have discovered cupcake heaven.
these are not ordinary cupcakes. these are in a definition all their own. each is a gourmet divine masterpiece. 

where might cupcake heaven be? the cocoa bean cafe. dozens of cupcakes to try, with certain flavors assigned to days of the week. i haven't tried every flavor. . .  yet.

here's what i have sampled:

• party in my mouth (nutella is in the center!)
• coconut lime
• raspberry chocolate cheesecake
• madagascar vanilla vanilla
• snicker doodle
• lucious lemon blueberry
• red velvet
• better than whatever
• orange dreamsicle

the hook is the frosting. when i take a bite. . . i   m e  l   t.
kid you not, it's almost better than an explosivly magic kiss {which, i admit, i really miss and it's been some time... but i digress}.  perhaps it's the vanilla in the frosting, or perhaps it's the perfect consistency, or perhaps it's the hint of salt to bring out the extraordinary flavors but.... somehow the perfect concoction of frosting tickles the back of my throat, and i really can't help but sigh in pure enjoyment. 

mmmmmmmm.... i may or may not go get one, this instant.

probably later. after i take a nap

{i have been up since 5, and worked over 9 hours as home depot's new SIGN CAPTAIN!}

*more on that later... my rational has fluttered off with my coherent-ness. 

sleep is the only remedy at this point.  but suffice it to say, i'm stoked.

in my veins

i am obsessed.

listen.
you will be, too.

i recommend closing you eyes.
i've had it on repeat for the past hour.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ymJvCqECR44

...oh, you’re in my veins, and i cannot get you out
oh, you’re all i taste, at night inside of my mouth
oh, you run away, cause i am not what you found
oh, you’re in my veins, and i cannot get you out...

we were seventeen again

we were seventeen again.

giggly and goofy, too late at night.  i haven't felt so seventeen in years. perhaps since i was seventeen.

my roommates and i, did in fact, write love letters. leafing through dozens of magazines, we tore and trimmed funny sayings and neat letters; somehow our odd conglomeration of words found glue in the late hour to not only stick to plain 8x11 paper but mesh together with some sore of sensibility.
fits of giggles of what we were doing frequently escaped, most hysterically when we puckered our lips to lure the boys with an imprint of a kiss in bold red.  perhaps that will encourage them to be bold. we cut and pasted with intention for our ward crushes (some more serious than others-- my attraction and baby crush is merely to his adorable shyness and incredible kindness). 

the TOP SECRET packages have yet to be delivered.  thursday is the proposed day for sneaking-- around 3 a.m., decked out to camouflage into the midnight ambiance, we'll tape the scrolls of fabulousness to the respective doors.  i only wish i could see their reactions.  i pray we won't be questioned by them directly. because i may just have a fit of seventeen giggles overpower me and the culprit will be made known through my guilty blushing.

one is quite brilliant. i shall share my less-brilliant but still grand love letter.  i find it charming.  i hope he might find it endearing and flattering.  maybe he'll take the hint, and search the depths of our complex for "mystery girl".

Translation: 
Dear __________,
SMART fine man wiTH the perfect personality.
I have A simple novel idea.Can you imagine the magic?
Our capacity to become more?
It''s only natural to want to ASK me OuT.
Come, ROCK the opportunities.
Happily Ever After Starts Here.
      XOXO
     Mystery girl

"if i was seventeen i could find it in a dream

a dime a dozen kind of love

i could find it i could find it" - ingrid-

i'll let you know how the top secret mission goes. 

s p a c e

of all the  s p a c e  we're in

 

{the heavy air; the void of sound beyond my breath

and your heartbeat;

the light and shadows of your eyes,

of the walls and windows}

there is minimal  s p a c e

between    us

the magnetic force engages anticipation

         climatically 

until

 the slim s p a c e is gone 

and 

i am lost in no space, at all

with you. 

for the world to see

my cursor curses my thoughts.
yearnings are transformed into a blank white screen.
there's so much i want to say. but how do i begin?

you need a good beginning-- an attention grabber. those words escape the quiet lips of every 4th grade teachers to their eager students. this easier-said-than-done announcement comes prior to you approaching the grandiose task of writing your first novel {not to stress, it's only 8 pages, with plenty of illustrations}. you were published at age 10.

what would it be like to be published, again? not binding your one-sentence pages and illustrations of colored pencils as a class activity only to have your masterpiece rest neatly on a book shelf attracting dust, with your parents periodically retrieving it to chuckle at your imaginative far-fetched creativity, while lovingly assuring you it's the greatest story every written.

what would it be like to have people read your words? 
pay to read your words, even.
all this has sprung from the book i am knee deep in, bird by bird.  it's a guide to writing. i recognize my standing as a psych major, that english is not my forte, that i still don't understand some grammar and punctuation rules in the english language... but i love to write.
so.  until i make the rash decision of writing for real beyond my blog, of writing for a purpose beyond being heard by the  v o i d  and my few select followers, i will entertain my audience as best i can with the comedy and tragedy and joy that is my life.

blogging is my way of being published. for now.
some days i want to write for the entire world to see! for those blog stalkers who meander their way to other blogs to find me {and don't be shy in admitting that you do. i do}.  i want a random person to fall in love with my stories the way i have fallen in love with meg or ingrid or neinei.  i suppose this is a fault of mine, for wanting something so absurd. but i still want it. 

so. do i write for the world to see?
     or 
do i only allow people i love and trust to see life through my eyes? only share my secrets with them?
because i do want to write, for you, for myself, for the world to see. badly.
{except for a few select people who necessitated the privatization of my blog in the first place}

eyelash

observed to wish and blow, with a kiss

your smile inspires soft breath

   and thoughtful dare

that maybe, in the breeze, my eyelash will seduce the fates

and

you will kiss me

the disappearance of dozens daily

would be alright

        if that one

if that one could conspire your soul

to dance

with mine

eyelash-less…

but my wish might come, tonight. 

yards and yards

remember the luxury of childhood?

• homemade lunches with love on the napkin and your name decoratively scrawling the boring brown lunch sack.  
• if you weren't sent on your merry way to learn your times tables with lunchables in tow, you were faced with the daunting decision: lunch option 1 or 2? this was crucial. it's against the law to switch later-- the lunch ladies need an accurate count-- so what you decide determines your lunch destiny. breakfast for lunch or spaghetti? ... both are prime options.
• recess. too few minutes on the clock of time granted to get out jitters and giggle and gossip and possibly chase boys or play 4 square or tetherball or attempt to swing high enough to defy gravity. 
• when you're sick your mom gives you hot chicken noodle soup, magic toast, and sometimes even ice cream.  she calls the school for you--you never need fear speaking more than one-syllable words to adults in authority positions because not only is that illegal, it's suicidal. 
• your mom also does your hair so you don't have to fuss with singeing curling irons and tricky elastics.
• she makes doctors appointments for you and cleans up your cut knee and puts a band-aide on with a kiss.  
• she makes sure you're on time to dance class, that you practice the piano, and even scrubs out the grass stains on your new jeans.  she is supermom.

growing up always seemed so glamorous as a child-- make-up and dating and college.  driving and dessert before dinner and, most alluring, no curfew.  the essence of independence.  the mirage of perfection.

i do these things; i enjoy these freedoms.  i even tie my own shoes.

but on occasion i run into a complication in the process of growing up.  i'm far from childhood days-- i have decisions that determine much more than lunch.  i know i am capable, of many things, but in the midst of my abilities, my weaknesses shout out my imperfections and responsibily crumbles my belief in my own self-sufficiency.

my mom still makes me magic toast and wraps her arms around me; she talks with me on the phone at 2 am and makes emergency cupcake visits. but there's only so much a mom can do.

if she's a good one, like mine, she let's you make mistakes and allows you to call the doctors and schedule appointments and manage money.  those are now my responsibility. along with tackling the mountain of laundry, waking up to my alarm, driving carefully, and making decisions that do determine destiny.  she offers advice, prayers,  counsel, resources, everything she has to offer.

but i need to be ready to grow up.  really.  not grow a couple millimeters. not grow a few centimeters. not even grow a dozen inches.  but yards.  yards and yards until the day i might slip on shoes of motherhood.
to begin, i will avenge responsibility, and let growing up come as it may.
the magnificence of childhood is far gone but i can offer that luxury in many many a yard to a little girl because i took the initiative to grow up.  today. 

bee a good date-- try not to laugh.

lance: "what's something unique about you?"

me: "oh, i hate that question.... what's something unique about you?"

lance: "when i asked you that question, i already had an answer.  

(pause for anticipation on my part) 

i'm a bee keeper!"

yes. this conversation actually occurred.  along with a good half hour discussing my genealogy and dead grandparents, at his insistence.

unfortunately, the lance i was expecting, the "lance" i had seen last saturday was not... actually lance.  i gave out my number with the intent of it being given to tall dark and handsome -- (the one i exchanged gazes and eye contact with--TDH for short)-- by his father.  i assumed TDH was his son.  but in fact, TDH is not his son.  father was referring to another boy entirely (who wasn't even at home depot)--  the real lance.  i was under the impression when setting up this date and chatting with lance briefly on the phone that i was chatting with TDH... but it was just lance. 

lance is a nice boy.
but you can imagine my disappointment when i opened the door expecting rugged TDH in casual but dashing attire... but instead i'm left smiling uncertainly at a rigid curly haired boy in straight jeans and a button-down shirt, with a colored shirt underneath. 

oh well. i'll make the most of it.  

aside from his disconcerting gaze and strange, sometimes irrelevant questions/comments, bowling was fun. i won. and dinner at the brick oven was grand.
but after 5 minutes of forcing conversation i wanted to be cuddled up in my bed, catching up on some much needed rest.  or reading. we discussed books and it made me want to take a stroll drive to barnes & noble to discover a gem of a book.  mmmmm.  any escape would be nice right about now. 


blind dates... it's a wonder they ever work out.

so. be sure to keep in mind.  that if ever you have that dire yearning to be educated in the ways of bee-keeping, beehives, queen bees, honey-comb, and bee-suites,
let.  me.  know.
i'll set you and lance up. he's got a llama, too.

brand new etch-a-sketch

--laughter and creativity--

in my opinion, the two best things to shake out that etch-a-sketch doodled with sadness. 

my etch-a-sketch is completely  blank today.

i am starting fresh.

that's the beauty of life. you can start fresh!

this summer i have re-created myself.  the rains of change have never felt so rejuvenating, so liberating.  i imagined it would be harder to go out completely on my own, without a known soul in my vicinity.
but truth of the matter is, it's wondrous. it's a secret no one tells you.  you have to discover the magic on your own.
you create your first impression according to your dictation. it's your agency that determines who you meet and where you go.
beginning at the starting line. devoid of  any surreptitious strings or expectations or reputations.

it's going to be a good race.

that is what this summer is all about-- starting fresh.   
mmmmm.  don't you love that smell? freshness.  newness.
when september rolls around i want to look back at the best summer of my life. and that's exactly what i plan on creating the next 4 months.

empty bottle jazz

i was really excited about superman-- he was turned around in his seat all through the previews of iron man 2 to talk to me! and not only is he beautiful, but fascinating. and fantastically smart. and then he drove me home  and we sang gnarles barkley to each other, and i tried really hard not to stare, or blush when he smiled at me.
i was also quite excited about lance.  a highly attractive young man at home depot. through our limited interaction saturday we smiled and made eye contact. no biggie. until his father {some time later} asked for my number {to give to his 22 year old son (lance) who apparently wouldn't stop talking about me}. lance called me today, and we're going out friday!

really exciting.

totally jazzed. 

life is good.

i was also really excited to talk to huntman. it's been 5 months since i've heard his voice.
i wish i could bottle it up, capture the deep warmth of his words and his rich laugh.  it's like honey goodness. 
i was also quite anxious. that's what excitement is partially, right? anxiety. mixed with some dread. what do you say to your best friend around the world? what can you say in a matter of minutes that you've been storing in your reservoir of thoughts for 5 months? what do you explain that can't be stated in an email?
what?

my favorite thing about huntman is the silence. because it's comfortable. we did plenty of talking, but the silence is my favorite. because we're both smiling on opposite ends of the phone.
just knowing he's on the other end makes every thing okay, makes me almost feel his embrace, makes me giddy and giggly.

unfortunately, after a time it also makes me cry.

i was doing so good. at christmas i did not shed one single tear-- i was so blissfully happy after talking to him nothing in the world short of a natural disaster could bring me down.
      but this phone call . . .
i blame it on the weepiness that has been abundant this week.  once huntman said, "it shall be but a small moment" i was a goner.  i had been silently crying before, just hearing his voice and having that all-too-familiar wave of homesickness for him hit me.  but at that point of acknowledging the time that would elapse until hearing his voice again, and the even crueler amount of time before i would see his face again, i cracked and started sniffling. 

i apologized for crying, he was wonderful {as always}, and we carried on with our conversation.
the   g o o d b y e  was drawn out, with continual interruptions on both ends of, "wait-- guess what?!" and sighs and... then it was inevitable.
   goodbye is such an awful word. i wish it didn't exist.

since whispering goodbye i feel like an empty bottle, an empty bottle with no room in my emptiness to be filled by superman or lance or anyone, but huntman. it's an impenetrable void.

believe me, i know, that i must be patient, i must keep living my life without him by dating and making memories and all that jazz... but the problem is, i'm not totally jazzed anymore. i need help forgetting how perfect {to me} huntman is... because with his decadent voice fresh in my memory nothing seems as grand, nothing comes close.
 
*side note-- if you disapprove of huntman calling, please keep your comments to yourself-- not only am i emotional but he said it was okay, and i trust him.
*additional side note-- i am grateful and happy he called. beyond thankful.it was a great phone call and  remarkably marvelous to hear his voice.  

weepy

yesterday i was weepy.

i was weepy about seeing mr. practical brown shoe and the awful feelings that welled up inside of me;
i was weepy because i still have so far to go in forgiving;
i was weepy about baseball player and home teacher man and the un-idyllic ending to both tales;
i was weepy because i missed huntman a million times beyond what my heart could bear;
i was weepy that i was getting a soar throat and that crying was giving me a stuffy nose;
i was weepy that my darling new apartment was torn apart.

but mostly i was weepy because i was  pre-menstral. 

then i was weepy because i watched nienie's youtube video.
and then i was really weepy because the precious little baby boy who i don't know but love so much has returned to our kind, compassionate, loving heavenly father.

i literally couldn't stop crying.  i felt i was going to dehydrate.

it got to the point where i was weepy because i was weepy, and weepy because i have been extraordinarily blessed and was being selfish, absorbed in my minuscule grains of problems, when others are bravely attacking mountains. 

sarah and mackenzie and my mom patched me back together again, along with an inordinate amount of oreos. plus chips and salsa.

everyone has a weepy day.
yesterday was mine. today is not.

today i am determined to make up for lost time being weepy; to gain and grant forgiveness; and to help those i love, because they always help me.

we have a leak!

"we have a leak!"

no. we have a f l o o d.

a casual tuesday night. the jazz game is on downstairs. kasey is watching with her fiancee, preston. nigel has come over to eat banana bread and visit-- we're sitting on my yellow bed. kim and sachi are in their respective rooms.

bounding up the stairs comes kasey exclaiming, "we have a leak!"

we discovered, it was not a leak.
the carpet outside the laundry room was rapidly turning a darker shade of blue. flinging open the door we splashed into a good inch of water on the linolium and discovered water still pouring into the already underwater machine. quickly shutting it off, we fledged into work.
sachi called aspen ridge to obtain the emergency maintenance number.
because this is an emergency.
they don't answer! she calls again and leaves a semi-frantic message.

who doesn't answer an emergency number?! emergencies don't occur 9-5 people!

downstairs kasey has placed bowls beneath the waterfalls flowing from holes in the ceiling. we are worried the roof might cave in.  her and preston moved the couch and table {saving my laptop and textbooks, thank heavens} to spare more water damage.

we have gathered buckets and bowls.  after throwing down towels and dirty laundry to sop up the soapy water we begin the assembly line of emptying water from the brimming machine into the toilet and tub. we wring out kim's soaking clothes and pack a laundry basket full for her to take to the "laundromat" next door.

finally maintenance man comes. he takes a look at the disaster, nods his head, and says, "i can't do much else here".
we all look at one another exasperated and chuckle. well.... what now?

carpet man came to survey the damage. turns out, it was a lot of water damage--to the carpet, the underlayment, the walls... he ripped up carpet and cut out a bundle of foam. we left gigantic fans on all night to air out the water.

there's other men here now trying to fix this whole mess.

i think the entire thing is hilarious. it retrospect it turned out to be a great bonding experience for my new roommates and i. fortunately we're all cool under pressure.

at the conclusion of the eventful night kim said, "well becky, welcome to 217!" with a smile.

forgiveness

i sincerely hope that one day
when i see you in the crowd and our eyes meet
and our steps bring us closer and closer
i'll raise my hand in hesitation, but grasp yours firmly
and we will smile
perhaps words will fail
          perhaps not
but
after a moment it will be understood
that i forgive you, and you forgive me
my apology will glint off my amber eyes,
for brushing you away
and yours, yours will reach me through your calloused fingertips
you never meant to hurt me
i know now.

and mistake or not, what's past it past

then we will animately discuss our lives
what has happened since the last glance we took of one another
so long ago
in tears or frustration or denial or innocence

i hope this day will come.

because today i saw you.
i did not want to grasp your hand.
i thought forgiveness had permeated my memory of you...
but in that moment i simply wanted to disappear under the brim of my hat.
as i saw your familiar lanky frame my stomach nearly lurched me
into the bushes to hide my guilt, my anger,
at you,
because of you.

i felt manipulated all over again.

i am still trying to forgive and be forgiven.
       i am still learning the miracle of forgiveness.

so old friend
please forgive me, i'm trying to forgive you.

pasta for one

i don't know what possessed me, but i had a craving for pasta roni.
i rummaged through my make-shift of food and found two boxes! i pulled out the olive oil and vermicelli-- the better of the options. i boiled the water and milk and butter.  just as my fingers were poised to tear open the top ... i s t o p p e d .
i stood there, in the kitchen.
a boiling concoction on the stove, banana bread in the oven.
and for all the will within me i couldn't command my fingers to finish their action.

you see.

He helped pick out this pasta at the grocery store, and drove me and my pasta home, and carried it up my stairs to label it in his almost-illegible handwriting as declaration of my ownership. well over a year ago.

this was no longer dinner-- it had evolved into a connection to him and i couldn't. i couldn't do it.  i knew that if i were to tear that box i would probably start crying. perhaps not now, but tonight. or tomorrow. or some other really inopportune time. and if someone were to ask, i would mumble through my blubbering that i was in fact crying about a box of pasta roni. 
so i settled for the tomato with parmesan sauce.

i'm saving the box as a reminder. maybe i'll eat it one day. in 1.6 babies.

blossoms of contentment

waking up to this makes me forget i live in provo.
waking up to this filters a smile through my soul, which guides radiant stretching and sighs of contentment with the dawning of a new day
i wake up happy-- morning after morning. i love morning happiness, especially since it has been ridiculously tardy in previous sunrises and even some sunsets.  

this view, in addition to x, y, and z, fills my summer soul with jovial optimism, unforseen happiness, and the great budding of potential in the threads of my story-- everything that was missing during the dark and dreary dreadful months at northwoods.

although i am on the brink of senior year i feel as if i am living college how it was intended to be lived for the first time.
i will detail x, y, and z later but for now... i just want to brag about my beautiful view and announce that finally, miss becky record has discovered happiness and is thriving where she is planted.

superman

i met superman yesterday.
clark kent and i are friends.
although he doesn't resemble christopher reeve or tom welling, when he first flashed his perfect smile and thanked me for my testimony in his 6'9" glory, my immediate and only rational thought was:
Superman

despite his giant height
the combination of his impeccable body proportions, dashing dark hair, and purely debonair smile which... takes your b r e a t h away...
where was i? oh. right.
all these beautiful qualities make it so you don't really mind craning your neck to look into his deep eyes and make him laugh with spontaneous witty charm.

i'm no lois lane but i'll take being friends with superman. i'll just try hard not to stare.

mr. practical brown shoe

his laugh in memory sinks

her stomach into disgust

and revulsion.

suffocating the heart with vile

acidic regret, coursing through synapses

tainted colorless by his mocking words.

because she trusted