collide

i'm not an avid watcher of "so you think you can dance" BUT while watching with a friend,
i fell in love.
more accurately, i fell in love with lauren and kent. and the ending of the dance.

it is breathtakingly beautiful. 


*as some background prior to viewing, they are "acting" as a couple following their prom date who keep being drawn back toward each other.

-collide-

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=41GCVwk2Vvs

watching it makes me giddy.

i want to dance like that. not literally  {i've never been one for lifts}, 

but i want to dance into the kiss-- honest & sweet.

not lustful. not casual.

a kiss that every movement has led up to. a kiss that is inevitable & exhilerating. "to somehow find you and i collide"

{in case you're wondering, the kissing dreams are back}

i got rhythm

*picture by the sartorialist

this is how i feel today.

gl o r i o u s l y  free and  happy!

a weight of sizeable proportions has tumbled out of my hefty knapsack and obliterated sadness, uncertainty, and a mild case of guilt.

my foot is tapping along with my new-found freedom.

no strings.

nothing but pure contentment, gratitude, and love. 

i got rhythm

i got music

. . .
{i daresay}
who could ask for anything more?!

taco love. with a little spice of assertiveness.

i feel 1,000 times better. perhaps 1,000,000 is a better exaggeration.

why?
because i found puppy love. {scratching duke's ears and big belly}

*not actually duke, but i rather loved it.

and baby love. {holding baby ryland}

{adorable, i know}

and had some great tacos.
along with homemade chocolate chip cupcakes adorned with the best frosting in the universe, compliments to mr. dane caldwell.

i also was assertive. i'm not leaving any wiggle room for your objections because this is the way it is, and this is the way it's going to be.

i can't imagine your reaction but.... i am happier already.

and i cannot wait to begin a beautiful new week.

tender loving care

my momma is excellent at giving tlc. i'm the baby of 3 and at the dawning of my 21st year-- she's had plenty of experience wrestling out her kids' needs and wants.
following my root canal this week {which went quite well, though half my tongue was numb for the whole day-- an extraordinarily strange sensation} we sat at home on the soft brown leather sectional where she inquired of me some questions that.... i haven't ever even asked myself, really.
not deep enough to know, anyways.

Q: what do i want?

Q: what do i need to be happy?

Q: how do i redefine my joyful existence?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A: i haven't a clue. 

my momma pressed the importance of nurturing myself. escaping the pressure of not having a boyfriend. and giving service. 

here is the list i have composed-- tlc i can give myself:

• painting my nails whatever color my mood is.
• sushi.... oh sushi
• especially tempura
• art
• history. enjoying gustav klimt. rodin. da vinci. monet. picasso. 
• projects. creating something. "creation brings deep satisfaction and fulfillment. we develop ourselves and others when we take unorganized matter in our hands and mold it into something of beauty" -president dieter f. uchtdorf-
•  nature. standing in awe at the majestic beauty of the universe.
• yoga. or something of meditation and relaxation.
• music. music. music. especially ingrid. and playing the piano.
• swinging. cartwheels. and other childish things that remind me not to take myself seriously. 
• grey's anatomy. this show is my therapy.
• cupcakes from cocoa bean.
• writing/blogging. it cleanses my soul.
• going to the temple. 
• dancing. dancing in the shower. in my car. dancing with a boy. dancing with my girls. just dance it out. 
• alone time. sometimes this is a pure remedy that nothing else can touch.
• long walks. thinking things over. 
• cooking. making a mess in the kitchen while blaring the ipod and shuffling around in my cute apron. 

as for the lack of boyfriend {and absence of huntman} i shall turn a blind eye to the gregarious couples multiplying around me.
so i'm starting a gratitude journal, in this darlng thing:

 curllygirldesigns

and attempting to begin to give as much service as has been rendered to me.

because:

"the more we serve our fellowmen in appropriate ways, the more substance there is to our souls" -president spencer w. kimball-

"those who bring sunshine to others cannot keep it from themselves" -james barrie {author of peter pan}-

&

"in the end, the number of prayers we say may contribute to our happiness, but the number of prayers we answer may be of even greater importance. let us open our eyes and see the heavy hearts, notice the loneliness and despair; let us feel the sincere prayers of others around us; and let us be an instrument in the hand of the lord to answer those prayers" - president dieter f. uchtdorf-

i didn't realize i missed you... til you came back

i'm much too busy for that.
i wasn't even aware of your absence. that is, until amidst my myriad of errands i stood still. {literally}. i just stopped. and there you came, rushing in to make everything alright for the moment.
peace.
i promise to redouble my efforts to keep you around. i rather like you. okay, i really like you. and need you dearly.
we've been together for a while now... going on 13 years? can it have been that long ago that you were given to me? my comforter. that's what you are-- an enormously strong but gentle blanket. you squeeze out my doubts and worries, but are sure to tuck in love and security, and warm me with serenity and hope.
you've been around in little ways lately. but today, today you realized i was shivering and enveloped me. i am toasty and warm, thanks to you. so. thank you, with deepest sincerity.
and thank you, to my marvelous friends. listening to my rants. making me cookie dough. sending me a kind text. following an impression and putting my name in the temple. praying for me. loving me. reassuring me.  it all means the world.
i am stronger for tomorrow because of you, my dear friend.  and because of my sweet comforter i have hope in the sunrise.

*photo via sabino

old picture of a sparkly girl

there is an old picture that adorns my bedroom wall.
it was taken just a year ago, but seems ages older.
dust has blossomed on the outskirts of its safe home, encased in a darling pink & white polk-a-dot mat from pottery barn.

this old picture is of me. and huntman. {we're adorable, yes?}
some days i remember that me. but, on days like today, i can't even recognize or discern who that girl is is in relation to myself, today.
life can be oh so confusing. figuring out what i need, what i want...

soon i will figure out my needs and wants. perhaps even a way to return to that sparkly girl. preferably, before i get an ulcer. most preferable.

my beginnings of color

my dear blog is in need of color. i'm going to become a picture-posting fiend!

here's my beginnings of color:

{in no particular chronological order}

john schmidt concert. 

on the grass.

with my brother benji.

and many many gooood friends.

karaoke at guru's with my beautiful friend nigel!

BiRTHDaY CeLeBRaTioNS, galor!

whitney and ainsley ringing in 21 with drinks @ SPARK

{don't fret, it's not really alcohol}

 

 cupcakes with the ladies of 209. and matching with chels, because we're that cute. 

stadium of fire. for FREE. i love my life.

i am proud to be an american

happy papa day!

megan and i in love with the same men....{not really}

backstreet's back, alright!

pike's market. i miss you.

i'm brining color in again-- into my life, into my blog, into my skin.

color color color!

i want you to want me

i want you to want me.

i need you to need me. 

i'd love you to love me.

i'm begging you to beg me.

- cheap trick-

it's truly a wonder i still care.
i always leave frustrated, feeling as though i'm not "enough".
yet i leave, always wanting more.  

couples are in abundance. for the past two days they have been in my direct line of sight. some inspire hope.

other {couples} just grunge up my bitter resolution in the audacity of men to be so.....  so. . . . .
mainly, these couples just remind me that i am not a couple.

i am me.

i have never resembled barbie. which is quite okay. i have come to accept and even relish in my un-voluptuous chest and muscular frame. some days i look in the mirror observing a reflection that is not unfortunate looking and borderline pretty.
but.
when it appears that men {or at least the men i had an interest in} only go for barbie.... it can be disheartening.

when you told me you thought "nothing" when you found out.... my wounded heart snapped the stitches that had held strong for 2 years.

i don't want to be barbie, but i still might want you to want me and need me and love me.
but i refuse to beg.
i will not cave in because i'm quite certain you don't want me or need me. although you might have once loved me.

dancing down the diving board

i am jumping in. not timidly slinking down the stairs with floaties ensuring my security. jumping. just me. with eyes closed and heart racing.
i'm forgetting the worries of:

what if the water's cold? 

what if my hair turns green?

what if there's a shark in the deep end?

there are far too many what-if's in life...
so i said "yes".
"yes" to who knows what will happen. i'm leaving myself open. {delirious happiness, remember?}
it's not what i expected, not at all what i planned, but... this could be good. whatever comes of it.

he's a charmer. definitely. but beneath his muscles and sly smile, he has a heart of gold. 

the flirting reached the ridiculous level today. he makes me roll my eyes {but in a good way}.

i've got my suit on and i'm dancing down the diving board.

hope in demolition

we don't have so much a language barrier, but a distance barrier.

 {which, has evolved into a language barrier}

what constitutes long distance? 
i think 6696 miles suffices.

if i were to walk eighteen miles to you, every day, across faded highways and through endless plains, a year would be too little. 

to scale down to a feasible mile-a-day, the journey would stretch in to 18 years.

i don't have the time or patience or desire for frostbite or weathered skin. so, i'm waiting for you to come to me. 

one year has evaporated. i'm pooling out the remaining 12 months. some days i wish for the sun to warm, evolve the days ahead into memories, faster. infrequently, but often enough, i cover the water of time, trying to prevent the future from coming today.  

the miles between you and i have discombobulated us in translation. offense is so easily taken without a reassuring glance or the soft graze of hands and lips. you're finally understanding what i told you in janurary, and starting to see what i've been trying to tell you since.
i'm trying to understand, too. perhaps i have missed something.

perhaps the language of man vs. woman is near incompatibility... translation is futile. 

i sincerely i hope not {although the evidence is stacked against me}

in so many months, the distance will be gone. the hedge of faded memories and longing companionship will be pruned.   but... when will the language barrier be demolished? 

i hope that with time and training and trust, the wrecking ball will leave residual damage. we can start again. it has been an earthquake coming to stand upon the rubble, but i'm ready to  work. hard hat and all.

double coat of happiness

my insides match my outsides.

{occasionally}.

but when i don't know what my insides are,

coinciding these two can be troublesome.


i have yet to identify the complicated workings of my insides, so my outsides have been troubled with nothingness, which others take to be sadness.
sometimes it is sadness, but usually it is not. 

i am proposing to myself: be happy-- inside & out.  paint yourself with the harmonious hue of happiness. maybe a double coat, just to be safe.


when legitimately considering

"what do i want?"

i have NO idea what the HELL i want!

which is alright.

i shall be happy in oblivion, leaving myself open to delirious happiness
rather than the cumbersome task of forcing the attraction between two polar dispositions.

p.s. i've begun to ride a bike. sort of. this is big news.

we're at an impasse, dear sunday

sundays.

i quite like them. they have been my solace from the week. not working on sundays is the greatest.
i sleep in.
i shower.
i actually attempt to get beautiful.
i go to church.
i see my neighbors, who are my friends.
i have time to cook, or help cook.
i spend time with my family.
i typically eat, a lot. with plenty of dessert.
i even socialize after ward prayer.
and of course, i write an email.

with all this luxury of time, there is a downside to the day-of-rest.
on sundays, i always feel pain.  it's inevitable. so i've come to accept it.

because i'm not running around home depot stapling up signs. i'm not prying my eyelids open to giggle round a bonfire, or biting my nails through 24 with boys in my ward. when you work 40 hours a week, you need to play that much, if not more.
that's the philosophy i've embodied: play hard because, heck, i sure have worked hard.
this weekend is a blur of activities and laughing and spontaneity.
and yet

it still comes as a shock when i'm sitting in church and i have that familiar wave of pain launch my soul into tears. sometimes the tears come out. today they certainly did.

 this pain...

i don't know quite how to fix it.

i busy myself all week long but. every sunday. it comes back.

we're at an impasse.

i can't make you understand me, and i can't understand you. 

where do we go from here?

why can't we be friends?

dynamics are ever changing. nothing is ever really stagnant between two people.
i believe it is plausible, logical, AND even  possible to be friends with boys. just friends. that there can be a mutual understanding of no interest in dating.
i believe i have found that, several times over.

apparently {according to my my brother} i am dead wrong.

it's been difficult for me to dismiss his counter argument to mine because... frankly, he knows me better than anyone. we have this strange bond and he just knows how i work internally. plus, he has never been wrong before about me and a boy. ever.

with that preface, i shall now explain the conversation which exuded my naivety about the opposite sex.

apparently, boys don't just want to be friends.

apparently, when boys give you a back rub that means something.

or when they spend lots of time with you.

or when they actually call you rather than text.

or when they rearrange plans for you.

or when they pay for you.

.....

yikes....

but

from my perspective, these two gentlemen that the above mentioned things may have occurred with just see me as one of the guys; a friend. they talk about other girls, for heavens sake-- how am i to know whether they're interested or not? or if i'm "on their radar"?
you see, when i spend time with these boys i clearly get the friend vibe. which is a-okay! but third party-ers insist the boy is interested. in me. not the gorgeous floosie over there, but me.

I HATE DATING and EVERYTHING 

THAT LEADS OR DOES NOT LEAD TO IT!

that is my rant.

so....
saturday ended splendidly with my {boy} friend. we had spent most of the entire weekend together and i felt perfectly comfortable-- overjoyed i had a not-new but newly-good friend. i even opened up about huntman. like, really opened up. and he told me about a girl he was interested in.
we shared. like friends do.
i was so content to have a  legitimately good guy friend again -- that i can be  both serious and funny with. 

u n f o r t u n a t e l y,
sunday's conversation with my family made me second guess my interpretation of the weekend

and

apparently, i gave 2 boys the green light this week.
i had no idea there was even a stop light!

i am still incredibly naive i suppose.
but, i do know that my feelings have ever so slightly been altered to accommodate for the possibility.  which i really really did not want, because

why can't we be {just} friends?

or perhaps more more importantly,  

why can't i remain satisfied with that?

skin

i'm beginning to feel comfortable in my skin again. for a while there {the past 11 months} i've felt dragged down by the foreign object of myself --
somewhat akin to shedding an inordinate amount of weight quickly, then being puzzled by the excess skin draped on your frame. you can't much cut it off {without supreme expense} but you can't relapse into gorging the weight back as a comfort because you've changed.

i've changed.
definintely.

part of changing and becoming healthy {i'm trying to lose the burden of "dark and twisty"} is waiting for that skin to slowly regain its elasticity and return to where it now calls home. because we're all resilient. 
stretch marks are inevitable but, hey!--at least you learned something. instead of grimacing, paint them with glory because they're part of who you once were. a reminder of your experiences and stories. 

today, as i was walking down the main lumber aisle of home depot in my orange apron carrying an armload of signs and my decorative staple gun, i had the epiphany.

---- hallelujah ----

which epiphany, God helped out with. a lot.  ya know, he's pretty good at pointing out a pretty stretch mark, or a ghastly one which has actually turned to be beneficial. 

*interlude: the other night, God and i had a little heart-to-heart. i asked for some necessities and desires, one of them being that he could help me be happy. {because, these past few weeks i have been wresting with my deepest feelings and it has taken its' toll.}

hours later, i was absentmindedly smiling. my co-worker asked, "why are you so happy?"
the answer escaped my annunciation, but internally i nodded-- i was happy because i asked for help. who knew? once i got off my high horse the sunshine streamed in. that happiness has stayed with me. even through a 22 hour day. and working 20 hours within 36 hours. 

silly? yes. but.  it means a lot.

part 2 of my epiphany {which struck me as i gazed upon 2 x 4's} involves boys:

not the what-am-i-going-to-do-in-this-situation BUT more of a comfort around boys. i feel like i once was, long ago in the days of high school-- one of the boys {to an extent}.
at ease.
not uptight about dating or impressions.
 just being there, flirting as a joke, flirting as friends, flirting. confident.

confidence being the key turning factor to my epiphany.

because not caring of their opinion lends you the opportunity to spontaneously trape around in the midst of boys. all as friends.

i went to the dollar theater with two boys this week. me and two boys. yep. count em-- one, two. buckle my shoe.

later on, i  sat by a different boy on a giant fluffy thing.

 not to cuddle, but to watch a movie and be friends.
a back scratch may have occured.

and at work, i talk to boys all the day long {it is the depot}:

married boys, engaged boys, single boys, gay boys,

boys who have girlfriends, boys who are womanizers, boys who dispise females.

all of them, in the scope of a store.  talk and flirt and talk and flirt.

moral of this post:
stretch marks are good-- they stand as irrefutable proof you have grown, you have changed, and you are working to find yourself.
your skin will come back to you eventually, to embrace you securely.
soon enough, those stretch marks will fade and you won't be afraid to wear that bikini, bearing your resilient beautiful skin.

*sigh*

it feels goooood to be in my skin again.

if i give you a band-aid, will i feel better?

i feel uselessly void in the circumstance.  you see, i injured someone. it was purely unintentional. but i am not innocent. i knew i was hurting him.  even now, i'm unsure where i could have righted a wrong.

it was an inevitable injury. like how a broken leg results from jumping off a roof; a strain comes from not stretching. and while i may be siding with aristotle's efficient causation, a cause most definitely precedes an effect-- even in the case of a crush. actually, especially in the case of love.

so. i stood there weaponless hiding behind my shield-- firmly protecting myself; guarding my emotions and rendering my sight blind to his subtle advances. but... i knew his intentions {which negates my claim to naivity} but could only hover in the corner as he danced around, jabbing here and there, trying to break my defense with his superfluous offense. but to no avail.

not once did i raise my sword to engage. not once.

fully armored but unarmed, i beheld the decline of his immunity. with each thrash he only injured himself. his shield was never in sight. soon his helmet and shoulder pads fell into the dirt. next, his breastplate.
i cringed. i moaned for him.
finally, he cast his sword aside, sinking into defeat.

i simply retreated. 

he knew. he knew i never wanted to be threatened by a sword, snipping at the threads of my resolve. his persistence was unwavering. he believed i would. one day.

now,       i feel almost guilty.
but it's my choice.
he can not force my affection.
once before, i succumbed  {to mr. practical brown shoe}. but i shall never ever ever settle my happiness because of guilt, again.