October 31, 2013


The Howl: gigantic, raunchy halloween party at my university, if you didn't know.
I attended. Pregnant.
As Juno MacGuff.
There were lots of other "costumes" that left very few things to the imagination, but to each his own.
Also, there was this really freaky dance performance by the USU Dance Company and my roommate, Sam, doesn't understand that if you scream, the zombies come after you, so we had fun with that for a while.

As for the actual day of Halloween...

this morning, in the paper, my editor gave that girl I work with credit for an article I agonized over all week. I was pretty livid about it.
And then, as if that weren't enough, there's this guy that has been asking me to "hang out" and I keep telling him I'm busy because I refuse to rearrange my schedule for a man who doesn't possess the decency to put forth a little effort and ask me on a real date. So, anyway. Today, he said, "You know, if you don't want to go out with me, I'd rather you just be honest."
I wanted to inform him that he never actually asked me out and that it didn't really matter anymore because I wasn't going out with him after a pity-sucking stunt like that. 
I ended up not responding.

So, at around one, I decided that I wouldn't make it to my second class. 
I threw in the towel. 
Called it quits. 
Came home, took off my makeup, put on a sports bra, and sat down to watch Ghostbusters.
Because I can't find it in me to support such a sucktastic day. 
This holiday blows.


P.S. I am grateful for friends who I can say, "I need you to not be busy tonight. Are you busy tonight? Because I need you not to be." And then, they're just there. Maybe they're not always there, and maybe you shouldn't go to them, but sometimes, when you need them, they're there. I am grateful for that.

Life in Eden changed.

     "I've got to tell you something that's really important," she said, "and I have to do it right now." She didn't know what she was going to say, but she knew she was going to say it wrong.
     "Woah," he stopped, "Am I ready for this?" he asked.
     "I need to know something," she paid no attention to his question, "and I'm not going to even think for the next five minutes, I'm just going to say stuff," she wiped her forehead. "I'm sweating."
     "Okay, well tell me, then." He was collected, with his fingers laced together. His hands cupped a pocked around his knee.
     "I am in carnival-ride-anxiety with you," she blurted. He laughed. "I'm serious."
     "So, I'm just going to be upfront. I don't know where this is going," he said and Funny, she thought, me either. 
     "Well, I mean it," she went on, "I'm in airplane-descent with you. Rock-climbing-wall-no-chalk with you."
     "I don't know what words you're trying to find, but these aren't doing much for me," he remarked. She just kept going.
     "Once, after my dad took the training wheels off my bike, I rode it down this big hill in our front yard. I couldn't remember how to use the brakes and so I smashed into the front step so hard that I flipped over the handlebars and got a fat lip. And I felt that same flip thing in my gut the time you made me go with you to buy new dress shoes."
     "I make you feel like you've been flipped over the handlebars of a bike?!"
     "Yeah," she said, "and also, I might love you," she said, and that was the ticket and he got it.

October 29, 2013


So, remember a couple of months ago when I posted this? Well, here is what we were up to. I am so lucky to be related to such talented individuals and to get to be a part of something that's really sort of out there. I feel like there aren't many videographers that take risks like this. Sure, it seems a little bit silly, but isn't that what people told Picasso when he started to do his thaaaang? When I told a select few about this secret project we've been working on, they tilted their heads and said, "Sorry, you're doing what?" and then, I'd have to couple that thought with, "I know it sounds weird, but trust me, it's really cool." Sometimes art risks sounding stupid, but when this is the product, I'm telling you, it's worth it.

Also, my friends and family are seriously the bee's. They all jumped at the opportunity to spend their Friday and Saturday night with a team of makeup artists and a video crew with a vision. The people I know are some of the world's very best. Please note: my best friend, Haley. A dancer. In the black dress. Homegirl can contort her body into freaky ways. Love you, slutty zomb! And also, is my cousin, Melodey, not just the most believable zombie bride you've ever seen? YOU GO GLENN COCO.

Anyway, Madison & Dan Herbas are, no joke, THE BEST you will find. Whether you're looking for wedding photography (zombie themed or not...) or videography.
Want to hire my favorite team? DO IT HERE.

P.S. Acting like a zombie for two entire days was probs my fave thing evs.
Also, HAVE YOU ALL BEEN WATCHING THE WALKING DEAD?! I will kill myself if Glen becomes a walker, I'm serious.

Zombie Love from Dan Herbas on Vimeo.


I was writing an annotation on the similarities and differences between two sixteenth century texts and since it made me want to hit my head against a wall, I took a break and turned to looking at these pictures of my feisty little niece, Taytum. My sister-in-law sends "Tots Updates" every now and again (we call her Tots--short for Taytum-Tots, duh) and every picture of her just makes me squeal. 

A few weeks ago, I watched my brother's kids while he and his wife escaped to the city for a few days. The two older kids kept busy playing outside while I spent most of my time with the two youngest. Taytum and I spent the weekend chatting about Ariel, watching Charlie Brown, and she even insisted on feeding her baby brother, Bode, while I cleaned up the kitchen. When I would put Tots down to sleep at night, I would lay beside her as she closed her eyes, twirled her tiny fingers through my hair, and sang "I Am A Child of God" in her raspy little two-year-old voice.

That, my friends, is bliss.
Gosh, I love tiny people. 

I love you a million billion peaches & cream, Miss Taytum Tots. 

October 23, 2013

Diamonds on your time piece.

I guess I only post pictures of dumb things now on this blog, but OHEMGEE I love my friends.

Also, I had one of those moments tonight where I almost did something reeeeally stupid, but stopped myself when I had the thought, "What would I tell my friends in group chat?! They would not approve!"

And then, I did not do that thing (Office Reference).  

So, thanks, you guys. You keep me grounded, even from a valley away. 

October 22, 2013

Well said, Mels Belles. 

October 16, 2013

"Well, I have a thing stuck in my shoe."

A couple of weeks ago, I was at my parents' house with a limited supply of church clothes and when I looked in the mirror, I looked like this. And because I reminded myself of one of favorite TV personalities, I took a picture.

Today, in a discussion about group costumes for a Halloween party, this picture came back to my head. Can you guess who I'm going to be for Halloween? 

The Bride Wore Black.

I've always felt like an Amy Stone: unkempt, sassy, and silver-tongued.
Tonight, the resemblance was uncanny in so many ways.
Also, my family=The Family Stone. One of my favorites.

Also, I just discovered The Vogue Diaries and I'm obsessed.
Please don't throw tomatoes at me when I tell you that Sarah Jessica Parker is my favorite actress and life coach.

The end/when did it become 2:00 a.m. just wondering.

October 15, 2013

Holes in Face.

Dimples can suck it.

And I enjoy being kissed on my neck.

It hasn't happened like that for a while, but for the record of honesty that I uphold, my neck.
It is my favorite place to be kissed.

And I do not enjoy spending three hours at a time in a car with everything to lose and nothing to say. And I do not enjoy eating dinner out of a cardboard box or watching a person I've dreamt of for years explode into a million tiny pieces. And I'm walking on egg shells trying to decide whether he's worth it or not. Whether it's worth the fight, you know?
Because it hasn't been. I've yet to be inspired by the fight that one of them is worth it.

And I can't hack it, so dimples can suck it.

October 10, 2013

"We'll always have Casa Blanca."

     "Your hair is different."
     "Yeah," I say. Because it is.
     "You have a lot of hair."
     "Yeah," I say again. Because I do. I have a lot of hair.
     "When I saw you the other day in the lab, I was so excited, you have no idea," he says. And his face looks exactly like he probably wanted it to look. Not that it was a fake response, but it wasn't the most sincere, either. I see right through that nonsense every time.
     "So, 2x+3/2x-3. That's where we're at." I change the subject. He's bouncing around my kitchen figuring the problem both in his mind and out loud, too. I'm trying to follow, but I'm getting lost. After only about twenty five seconds, he pipes up.
     "The answer is positive three over two," he says. I catch up on paper. I know he's right because my answer looks wrong. "Technically speaking, it's negative one," I give him a look because we were never technically speaking, "but we'll just stick with the first answer we got. Sound good, champ?" He has always called me that. I can never decide whether it's because he's seven years older than me or if it's because he's genuinely a sixteen year old stuck in an adult male's body. Regardless, I get irritated and erase the paper, making crease marks as I go.
     "Why are you so good at everything?" I whine. He throws his head back and laughs. "I'm serious," I say, "I get so annoyed that you know everything about everything," I shut my book and tell him I'm taking him home now.

     We are in the car.

     "Dancing," he says.
     "I am a terrible dancer."
     "Am I supposed to understand the point of that statement?"
     "You say I'm good at everything and you know I'm not good at that." I remember and nod my head.
     "Ah, yes," I say, "Remember that thing we went to on Valentine's Day last year? With the jazz band?" he nods his head and looks embarrassed. "It was like pulling teeth getting you to dance with me. And all you had to do was put your arms around my waist and sway back and forth."
     "I remember," he laughs. I didn't do a very good job of that, did I?" I think back on that night. It was the last night I saw him. The next day, I said something to the effect of this is too hard and I want you out of my life. And since then, out of it, he has stayed.
     "No, you weren't really moving at all," we both laugh as I pull onto the street.

     Earlier, he helps me study for my math test, and then, he makes a comment that I'm not confident in myself. Later, he says he's more confident now than he's ever been and I wonder if the two statements are related. I wonder if they're the reason we're able to be in the same room, sitting beside one another again.

     "Your timing was bad," he tells me when we're at the stop sign before his apartment.
     "Me? My timing." I'm not sure where this is going. We've been talking about relationships and how they're not really going accordingly for either of us at the moment.
     "Yes, your timing. Last Christmas. It was a really weird time for me. Had you come just a little bit late--"
     "No, stop," I cut him off. "It was never the timing."
     "You don't think so?" he asks and I feel like I've got loaded words in my mouth. Like anything I say could be detrimental to any future the old me might've wanted.
     "I don't," I say almost in a whisper. "To be honest, I don't think we ever would have worked."
     "Oh," he breathes like I've just punched him in the gut.
     "I don't say that to mean there was never anything there, but say it comfort you. Like you didn't make a bad decision when you didn't want me," I say. And I'm consoling him. Why am I consoling him? Somebody remind me.
     "Well, if we would have stuck with it, no doubt, you would have gotten tired of me." He looks down at the floorboard, "but that's probably the only thing."
     "I don't think that's necessarily true, I just..."
     "What? Why don't you think it would have worked?" I continue to remind myself that he broke things. Whatever things there were, if any at all, he broke them.
     "Because it took me exactly two weeks to stop thinking about you, and I don't think that' how it's supposed to work when it is something worthwhile." The words feel like acid coming up my dry throat, but it burns so good that I want to say it again. So, I do. "It took me exactly two weeks."
     "That's the way it usually happens," he smiles out of habit, but I know he hurts. The spaces beside the corners of his mouth wrinkle because he's aging and I remember how good he makes it look to age. And his hair peaks down just over his forehead. He wears it messy now. It's that Jude Law thing he does. It makes me want to heal him every time, make his sad go away.
     "I don't know what that means," I tell him.
     "I can't do anything long lasting to you girls. You all look at me and tell me how attracted you are to me. And then, you kiss me. And after things have gone awry, you sulk for two weeks and I never hear from you again." It felt like a chess game to me, one he desperately wanted to win at, but he kept being assigned the pawn. I can't feel for him because that sort of thing never happens to me. I have my own issues, sure. Like getting into deep discussions with the men I've tried to date about what went wrong. But I never feel unwanted. In fact, I feel respected. Like I'm of more value after the fact. Which is more than other girls can say.
     "You have got to stop doing this to yourself," I say, "When you're roped into a situation you don't want to be in, say no." I teach him the word and we're making "O" shapes with our mouths and he's laughing again because I'm making him.
     "I can't say no," he tells me. So, I pull into his complex and put the car in park.
     "Yes, you can," I claim, "and if you would've said no to me, I would've been grateful."
     "Ouch! That hurts!" but he's smiling. Real smile, the one without all those sad aging wrinkles and I know he knows what I mean.
     "It just would've saved us some trouble... you know..."
     "Oh, you mean, like when we were watching that old Humphrey Bogart film? On that terrible leather couch in your basement," he slows, "last January, when we did the thing..." it gets quiet and I don't know what to say.
    "Yeah. When I kissed you and you kissed me back," but then I find the words, "for three and a half hours. And as I recall, you bit me and my lip was swollen the next day." We laugh again because that night was messy and a little bit saucier than I will ever relay to my mother.
    "Yes," he nods and I am happy.
    "Feels like a long time ago, doesn't it?" I wonder out loud.
    "I should like to never forget that time," he tells me and I sink into myself because I haven't thought about it in a long while.
     "Well, anyway," I refresh, "Let's practice saying no." I pull my hair back and pin it on top of my head. "A girl who has been dragging you through the mud tells you she wants to kiss you. What do you say?"
     "Yes. I say yes."
     "Oh, my gosh. You're literally going to be a miserable person the rest of your life."
     "Sorry, sorry. Try again." I roll my eyes.
     "So, I'm going to kiss you now," I say, leaning in, and it feels like an old habit that died too soon. We are silent. "And... then, you say..." I prompt him.
     "I wouldn't say no," he says. I am a piece of stone as I bounce back into a stiff driving position. I pretend not to hear what he said.
     "Come on, what would you say?" I nudge, distant, across the arm rest.
     "You heard me," he answers back and I am still.
     "You're not serious."
     "I couldn't say no to you."

And then, he opens the car door and I am unable to speak. Because I feel that right inside me. He steps out of the car, but before walking to his front door, he turns back.

     "But you know," he shifts his hair from his face and there's that endearing, genuine, bluish smile that makes me happy to be sad, "we'll always have Casa Blanca."

October 9, 2013

I'm an alien freak.

Around this October time, when everyone starts to quote Anne Shirley and F. Scott Fitzgerald without probably even knowing who those people are (Hint for the Pinterest generation: one is fictional, the other is not. Can you guess which one?) I start to get an anxiety attack. Which is bizarre for me because I'm not an anxious person. I'm a procrastinator, and lately, brushing my teeth is not something I enjoy doing, so if I accidentally forget one morning, I let it slide. I mean, my dental hygiene is fine, everybody calm down. I get the job done. But I'm just saying, I'm not an anxious person. So anyway, around the end of September/early October, I get so irritated with all of this fall nonsense. Sure, fall is good. There are leaves and pumpkin muffins, and canyon drives, but do we all have to be so obsessed with it? And, hold up, everybody... I swear that back in May, you were all ready for "your favorite season S.U.M.M.E.R. :):):):)" So, make up your mind, ladies. Which is it? Is your favorite season autumn? Are you "so glad you live in a world of Octobers"? And do you know who L.M. Montgomery is? This is a slam to no one in particular. Believe me. It's to EVERYONE in particular. I deleted Facebook last weekend because it was driving to madness. That's real. So, try to find me on Facebook, I dare you.

Anyway, all of this to say that I can't wait until the leaves fall from the trees and it snows and everything is quiet and perfect. December is when I feel the most at home. Plus, my birthday is three days before Christmas so I think holly berries and chestnut oil swim through my veins all year long. And January. When I'm given a chance to reorganize my life and adore the stillness of the snow. And February. When the world celebrates love. I've never had a Valentine (and this is a post for another time) but I love that holiday. Can we not celebrate love in general? Love for everything in this world? Do we have to go and make every holiday about ourselves? While I do love Valentine's Day, I can't stand the bitching by hormonal, bitter women. Let's just all be happy that love exists. Winter is perfect. No judgement if you don't feel the same, but I love it so much that maybe I'll find a quote from a literary character I don't know anything about to express my adoration for my favorite season.

I'm sorry. If you feel like this is a personal attack on you, it's not. I usually have conversations like this over the phone with my sister, Amy, but we haven't had the time to talk lately. And ohmygosh WHAT is with selfie videos on Instagram?! I don't understand. Am I just wicked??

October 8, 2013


Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.

Sky High Honey. Gone.

Tonight, I went to a concert. 

And when Joshua Radin sang My My Love, he said, "Grab the one you came with now because this song is going to make you want to hold onto them." And I shed literal tears. Because the one I had come with wasn't the one I wanted there. So, I shed literal tears. 

And there was some talk about how he doesn't think it's right to kiss a girl passionately on the first date. Like, he's a gentleman, and somebody I should be in love with. But I'm not. Because while none of my first date kisses were respectable, they were some of my very favorite, breathtaking moments. 

And he dropped by the other day to leave a note that said he hoped I was having a good day. And he calls when he's supposed to. And he's brilliant. And charming. But he's straight lines and line graphs. And he doesn't need me the way I need someone to. 

So, anyway, during My My Love, I shed literal tears because I'm never going to be straight lines and line graphs. But I feel better knowing he's never going to be rhythm and poetry for me, either. 

October 7, 2013


I enjoy being told I'm beautiful. 
Even better, I enjoy being told
I'm beautiful when my guard is
down, my hair is up, and I'm 
not concerned with saying it 

I enjoy being told I'm feisty,
a pistol, that I do what I want.
Because those things are true.

Last night, I called up a friend of mine because I reeeeallly didn't want to go see a movie alone because it was Saturday night and you know how the movies are on Saturday nights; they just make you feel alone. 

So, I called up a friend of mine. Who, okay, isn't really just a friend of mine. He's one of those men who you've spent hours lying on the living room floor beside, talking about minimalistic architecture and Frank Lloyd Wright. A person you meant to kiss, but didn't mean to feel anything after doing so. Well, anyway, I called one of those. Because my original plans fell through. But also and mostly because I think I was lonely. And I do stupid things when I'm lonely. 

Like call up an old friend of mine who is no good for me at all, and let him tell me he was thinking of me last night. That he almost made the very same phone call, too. I let him tell me that he missed me because there's more in my head than E! News. That I'm intelligent and stunning. I'm worth spending Saturday evenings with. And then, I let him hang up the phone before I had the chance to say nevermind and even though you're busy tonight, don't call me next week because I don't really want you, I just like hearing you tell me I'm beautiful.

Because I do stupid things when I'm lonely.
And anyway, I went to the movie by myself.

October 4, 2013

I want a squishy baby.

I'm frustrated today because I am writing an article (and sorry this has become a place where I vent about why I hate and love writing at the same time, but that's just the way it goes.) about a new grant Utah State has written, which allows students with children to have access to free childcare (I mean, is it really free? No. But that's another story.) and it got me thinking about how I, in no way, will be eligible for that grant in my life. One year from now, when I'm finishing up my undergrad, I will not have a baby. Unless I get pregnant within the next three months, no grant for me. And when I realized that, I just wanted to start crying.

Because then, I went home, turned on my computer, and read a little bit of Jess. I've been obsessed with her ever since she got the pixie cut. And then, she had that sweet baby, who, I'm serious, is the most adorable little thing to ever grace this planet. And that family is just so dang beautiful that I can't even.

And although I'm sort of grateful that I'll never have to worry about childcare while I'm putting myself through school, I'm sad because it still doesn't change the fact that I'm not a mother, living in Boston, doing the most important job there is to do, the things that my body, my soul, were made to do. It just sort of makes me feel worthless. But it shouldn't, because that's silly. And then, Madeline, I read your post and thought, "Hm, same brain this week." Except for you are married and it's more normal for you to be baby hungry. What is my deal?

I walked out of my apartment last night and an adorable, little black dog came bouncing up to me.

Maybe I'll get a squishy pup instead.

October 2, 2013

I feel hollow.

Thursday is the day.

The day I have to hand out twenty-two copies of my heart to a class of editing sharks.

And I'm FREAKIN out.

Because it's one of those things that Dr. Sinor says "Just comes from the gut!" "Write about things you'd never share!" she says. And I just cringe a little bit in my seat because I'm trying. I'm trying so hard to write about things I wouldn't dare share. I'm trying to be brave. And this is a big thing for me, you know, a big thing. Because it's going to be workshopped next Tuesday while I'm in the room, not saying a word. It's going to be so big that I'll probably sweat a little as I know what I've written and what I've handed out to my peers.

But this is learning, you see. And growing. And developing. And figuring out how to get into the crawl spaces of dreams--the places that'll never make sense.

And I've chosen to write mine about the circle-line-dot theory and what that means to the way nobody ever wants me. With guest appearances by Makenzie MacGillavray, who, in the sixth grade, I hated so much because she was good at soccer. And more guest appearances by the little curly-haired girl who sat on her dad's lap a row ahead of us when Luke and I went to the string quartet last week. And the way I envied her. Guest appearances by Klimt's The Kiss and how I've always felt like it was a lie.

This lyric essay is basically organized chaos, which is basically everything I have ever been. And now I've got to share these bricks that have been sitting in my stomach-pit for years. Not only do I have to share them, but I have to sit in a stale classroom while a group of twenty-two intellectuals, brilliant writers, picks apart the language of my gut and tells me how to change it.

I've never been so nervous in my life.

This blog post just got real. So, I'd like to leave you with the fun-fact that my creepy little neighbor has recently become our resident stalker, so we call him "Joe Fusco Jr." because there's really no other way to describe him. Today, he knocked in pattern on the front door, and when I opened it, he handed me a 12-pack of Activia, yes, Activia, and said, "Found this at work and thought of you girls." And what's even funnier is that his name was on the plastic wrap around it. Which meant that 1) he didn't get it from "work" and 2) he took it straight from his refrigerator where it would make sense that his name would be on it. I mean, I could barely contain myself. Yogurt has always been a surefire way to my heart.