Bein' Home Never Sounded So Good

I love my family.

Emily's half mile dream last night was for us to record a song together....and we did so at...3am? It was early. Really early ...or late... and I kept screaming things like "DID YOU HEAR THAT GOOSE!?" in the middle of recording things...it was ridiculous. But we got a few good turnouts... One of which is a beautiful song by Fleet Foxes:

It's absolutely gorgeous. I love that my family enjoys good music. It's been fun being home. Just laughing and screaming and having cats jump all over me. I love just taking a break and being even more ridiculous than usual for a while.

Here is an example of one of the sleepy/ridiculous things we recorded last night...

The madness will never end. As long as I have a say in it.

Scattered writings

In my attempt to become a successful author who will make people feel things... I have acquired a lot of scattered writings. In my Gmail account under 'drafts', in various journals and notebooks...None of them connect and none of them are complete. Most are abandoned projects I'm too embarrassed to continue and some are shadows from a past life I don't even remember.
Not including the personal or embarrassing or down-right confusing pieces of writing that may or may not be life-changing to a teen someday, I have taken some scraps from the debris that I would like to share with you, the internet. Also, none of these are related so...just take them for what they are:

Diet coke. The bubbles float up through the ice like plinko chips.

“Let me teach you a thing or two about life…”
“But, I like not knowing about life. That way it’s exciting when it hits me”

Leaving his dark body outlined by the moon against white sheets.

The sun would slide down her dark curls that hung loosely over her shoulders. The smoke from her cigarette would twist and dance with her hair before it was sucked out the window and I would lean against my door in the passenger seat. She always looked so glamorous with big sunglasses on her nose and a cigarette poised carefully between her two fingers. I tried holding a cigarette once for Margot as she rummaged through her purse to get something. I felt clumsy, and for the first time in my life I questioned the dainty quality of my hands as I worried about the pressure I should use to hold it. It felt so fragile and unbalanced billowing up a fear of dropping it with the rising smoke. But Margot held it with grace as if it were an accessory.

We bought digital tape recorders on a three am whim to carry around with us for the book called “24/7 with Margot and Penny”. It was a book in which we were to transcribe a full 24 hours of our jibber jabber. It was a good idea in the isle of WalMart where they sold electronics we would never learn to operate. It was a good idea on top of a mountain as words fell out of our mouths over the speed limit. However, once in the parking lot with directions unfolded in my lap, it was useless.

Those hand-held recorders filled with two hours worth of memories sat in the bottom of sticky glove boxes and floated stagnant in the middle of junk drawers. The book was never written and we just kept driving.

She used to tell us, “The world is my bulletin board,” right before she hung another picture above our couch. The pictures of Jesus were taken from LDS libraries on cardstock and thumb-tacked into the middle of a wall with the bright orange tack stealing all of the attention. It was comfortable though, and I liked my mother’s sense of anti-style.

“I just don’t understand how God can call imperfect men to be bishops or leaders of any kind…how that can happen?” she would ask, the words written in the smoke.
I never struggled with those questions so I had no answer; I would just lean my head further out the window. I always knew no one was perfect, so how could God call a perfect man? There are no perfect men; it was an impossible task, even for God, and I knew it. It’s like when people ask, “How can bad things happen to good people?” and I just shrug my tight shoulders and think, how can you think any part of life is bad? It’s life. You’re living and breathing; and with all the possible complications at birth, you’re a miracle; be grateful for your tiny tax refund and your asbestos-covered ceilings.

The Eagles were telling me to take it easy so I let my eyes close and felt the energy of the sun soak into my eye lids...

The house we saw in front of us across the street was plain; not to be noticed unless you wanted to notice it. There was wood paneling along the front, painted a long time ago with long strokes of dull blue. The house had three steps leading up to a porch which held the front door and three tall windows showing off the living room. It would have looked like any other house in a number of pictures drawn by your four-year old niece, except for the oversized window to the right of the front door. The window stood as a picture frame, holding any given moment in the kitchen frozen, hanging on the dull blue wood as it would on a wall in a museum.

"Nice to meet you," his response was Pavlovian as was my lack of caring enough to stop and wonder if it really was nice to meet me.

We sat like women with our legs angled and our knees together, but whispered like preteens about the boy with the heavy gold chain around his neck.

Above his lips was a dark mole on the right side. A punctuation mark stating his existence.

Pinball Wizard

Dear Everyone,
Mine and Kelly's favorite pinball machines are right next to each other.
We are so lucky.

Dear Life

I'm sorry you haven't read any Vonnegut until now. I didn't know you'd like him so much. I mean, it's still pre-mature -- you're only 90 pages in. But so far, you are lucky to have finally picked up a book of his.
He's like a much more inspiring John Lennon.
I know, I know -- you love the Beatles; but let's just admit that Lennon was an ass and so far you'd rather have art by Vonnegut on your wall than Lennon...

































Keep reading.
Be inspired.
Love, me.

An Addendum

I just saw New Moon again. It's tradition for Aunt Jane to take me to the Twilight movie when I come out to Vernal for Thanksgiving. Tradition.

So. I thought more about the movie....



Here's the thing...Bella decides she CANNOT be happy if Edward isn't there. Thus, teaching us...love is only true if there is pain? Love is suffering? Something like that...That's what I get from it. Want to prove you really loved him? Then, DON'T be happy unless he's there. How does that make sense? It doesn't. You can love someone, have them leave you and then find happiness again. I just hate how once Edward is gone and Jacob leaves too...she has nothing. Disqualifying her mother, father, friends at school....nature, the sky, the clouds, food...she had nothing? False. We're not meant to be miserable, she could have found something. So, when she's "suffering", I say, you've brought it on yourself, dummie. You're making youself miserable. Selfish, selfish girl. She doesn't even try.
Stephanie Meyers didn't try when she wrote the books....
No brain.

This is ridiculous.

Movies Are Hard to Make

I'm trying to project what I think the movie of Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close would be like. It's extremely hard and I'm incredibly far away from this paper's end. And it's due on Tuesday.
It's just...so much harder than you'd think. You read a book and you see it all in your mind. You follow what's happening page after page and your brain slowly pieces things together. Images comes together like the shattering of a vase backwards. But trying to put it into film...it's harder. Because it's not inside your brain anymore. It's outside of your brain and you're projecting it on a screen for everyone else to see. No longer can it be fragmented pieces scattered throughout the random crevasses of your brain, it now has to be linear. Things have to flow. And it has to fit within the time constraints. And there is too much to think about.

Speaking of movies...I saw one last night. Maybe you've heard of it...New Moon?
I love those Twilight movies. Never read the books but the movies...I can't tell if I love them because of their novelty ridiculousness or their high school drama or if they're actually just well done. I can't answer that question. But I can answer the question, "what's your beef?"...

These movies are just giving teenage girls validation that it's okay to be overly dramatic and think the world is ending all of the time. As teenage girls watch an over-sized version of Bella on the screen above them writhing in pain and screaming because a vampire man left her...it's putting in their brains...that drama is good. Drama is life.
I mean, Yes. Sometimes love does make us hurt that much. It cripples us , our knees buckle and we are dragged to the ground in a physical pain that can't be explained. The writhing is real. But life doesn't have to be only about how much pain we feel. Drama isn't life. Drama is a part of life that comes and goes and a part that can be conquered. When our hearts are broken it's okay to hold the little pieces in our hands until we learn how to put it back together, but Bella is telling these broken-hearted pre-teens to throw their bloody chunks against the wall, screaming that life isn't fair. And that's not going to help.

Here's another problem I see...in Bella and Edward's relationship...are they ever smiling or laughing or happy? Maybe when he called her "Spider Monkey," but really all they ever do is stare at each other, bite their lips, and talk about how hard everything is; how much "this hurts." Shouldn't love be more than talking about how much everything hurts all the time? I feel like if that's all your relationship is spawning, there is a problem. No one should be complaining that much while claiming they're in love. Now, I haven't read the books...maybe in them Meyers says something like, "And then they laughed and laughed and laughed. And laughed and laughed. They couldn't stop laughing..." but I'm just talking about the movies here. The movies with cut off shorts and awkward stances.

These thoughts are incomplete.
End transmission.

Believe it.

One day I'll have a cowboy and a horse.
One day I'll wake up early and not resent my alarm clock.
One day I'll figure out how to match my clothes.
And on that day, the internet will explode and Will Smith will come out of hiding and start singing Welcome to Miami, but only to me, and only non-stop.

Party in the city where the heat is on...

Instead of wearing a sensible jacket or sweater today, I wore a huge coat. I decided that I'm sick of being surprised by how cold it is. Instead, I want to be surprised by how much I'm sweating after walking up the stairs from my puppet class. Does my life sound like a joke? It's not. These things are real.
I'm also inventing a new literary theory called Peter Pan Theory. Believe it.
Believe how smart I am.
And I'm writing a paper on how I would turn my favorite book into a movie.
And writing a paper on how I would teach my little students grammar using that same book. And now movie.
Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close.I love that the original title of the book was supposed to be I'm OK.
Read it. Read him. He changes lives. So does his wife.

I have a lot of books that I need and want to read. It's just that sometimes I forget how much reading means to me so I sit around watching internet TV and eating toffee...

I have a lot of things to do before Thanksgiving break, but once that break comes....ohhhh the nothing I will do. The puzzles I will put together. The birds I will whistle to.

Dear Life...

Dear Life,
I love all of the things you are doing right now. Remember when you found that Annie record at DI? Remember two years ago when you convinced the new guy at work that you were 30? Keep doing what you're doing. Because I'm lovin' it. Just like the McDonalds slogan.
Love,
Natalie

Puppetry, my true love

As many of you may know (many meaning the 3 people who read this blog), Eric Layland and I are taking a puppetry class together, which has turned out to be one of the best decisions of my life - along with microwavable lasagnas and cutting myself bangs.

Puppetry is hard work. Here we see Eric working hard with his glue gun.
Here we see Eric having trouble with the glue gun. You'd think we wouldn't have any problems using a glue gun, but let me tell you...it's tricky. I got some glue in my hair today.
The teacher asked, "Does anyone have any questions?"
Sheepishly from the back of the room, "How do you get glue out of your hair?..."
I just ended up cutting it out. I needed a trim anyways.

Moving on....Minus one, let me introduce you to the new group of friends I have made:

Day one, we made a sock puppet. This is Flo.


Flo, like so many other things in my life, is white trash. For example, there was a whole lamp in the back of my car for 4 months and I finally decided to throw it away the other night....in a tiny garbage can at a gas station. It took me a few minutes to shove it all in there...Anyway, Flo is gross and a smoker and thinks everything tastes like nicotine. She's also not very funny, apparently. She came with me to the Divine Comedy tryouts and didn't get called back. Sorry, Flo.

Next we have Gene:
Gene, although some may say looks like Hitler (which, if you say this, I will kill you), he is not. He is supposed to be reminiscent of this man:

I guess I forgot the glasses and made his mustache too short. Also he didn't have a bowtie or a double chin....But the curly hair made me think of him. So. Not Hitler: Gene. Anyway...Gene grumbles a lot. You can't hear much through that mustache and he has a paisley shirt which...is open in the back like a hospital gown because I didn't know how to make a real shirt.
Eric made a pig. He gets mad when I tell him he made a puppet that looks like him, but can you blame me when he makes that face all the time?

Our most recent puppets today are my favorite. They were really low pressure because I didn't have to try hard to make it cute, it already was. We took some stuffed animals and did some slight surgery...
Our teacher told us to "Pretend you're surgeons....Proctologists."
And from that we have:
I haven't given mine a name yet. I was too busy hugging him and making him wave to people on campus all day to think about a name. Emily suggested Dr. Emmit Brown and Marty Mcfly. Mcfly could be cute...since he is a frog. I thought of Carl. But, I don't know if that's sticking...
Look at that pure happiness in Eric's face. That's what puppetry does for you. Gives you happiness. And a giraffe with a little bow.

And frog guts.

I made a stage for my (disastrous) puppet show that I preformed last week. If you'd like to feel awkward and be embarrassed for me as my props fall off the stage and the moments of silence tell you I forgot some things...you can.
Here.


The moral of the story is: Puppets rule the world.

I wrote this for my grammar class...

I tried out the labyrinthine sentence, which I like because it reminds me of Dave Eggers. Also...a couple of sentence fragments and list of sorts.

I feel tired. I turned on the computer and wanted to be in the mood to write something moving and inspirational, something that would make my chest expand as my fingers flutter over the keys because I'd know that what I was typing just might change the world someday; not the whole world, but maybe someone's world - even if it's just my own little world full of incisions made on the back sides of stuffed animals to create puppets and microwavable lasagnas bought at the grocery store - even if it's just that little world that is changed, I'd feel important and excited that my fingers could change a life; but alas, I turned on the computer and felt my eye lids fall a little closer to my cheek bones and my arms fill with sand, and with shoulders drooping, I feel my mind slipping under the green, woolen comforter in my two-windowed bedroom and instead of inspirational, I feel tired.And hungry.
And I want a Jamba Juice.
I want Disneyland and a genie to grant me wishes.
I would wish for a soft serve ice cream machine.
And the ability to fly.
I would wish for the brain power to write a novel.
I would wish for someone to give me an Indian name.
I would wish for the summer and a beach to dig a hole in as sand seeps into the holes in my beach socks.
I would wish for love and for a cowboy.

Thunder and Storms

I woke up every half hour last night, listening to the wind and the rain. And I kept having dreams about going to my car to drive to work, thinking how I have the worst luck to have to wake up at 5am on the scariest night of the semester. The wind sounded like a haunted house all night and since the windows in the living room were open, my door trembled like someone was trying to get in. I would wake up and think, "Natalie, you love thunderstorms." But then the wind would shake my door and and the trees would dance outside my window and the memory of the men breaking into my house in the dream I just had would come back. So I would readjust and hold my blanket tighter.
On the drive to work, lightning outlined the mountains.
I love thunderstorms, but they feel like something is missing if I don't have someone next to me. They have the potential to feel pretty lonely. I watch the empty raindrops and feel my heart beat in the thunder.

Imma Twitter That

Imma Blog That.

So. I got a Twitter. Due to a recent downgrade in my contacts whom I text, my fingers are restless. I sit in class and think these GENIUS things and have no one to text them to. I'm anxious. Antsy. How can this be remedied? Twitter. I...got a twitter. In the past, I have failed to see the point of this internet tool; however, with my recent predicament I am beginning to appreciate the novelty.
I can now text someone all of my inane thoughts. The internet. I know the internet isn't listening and doesn't care but I don't care about that. I don't want a response. I just want to use my thumbs to send a message into space. And now I can.

Tweet Twit. I twitter it.
You can check it out if you want to read about how much I HATE people in my classes. Or how I feel like Kevin Mcallister at night time .

Imma Twitter That

I'm lovin' it.

I forced Eric Layland to get one too. Because...well no. I didn't force him. He just looked over at me in the library and asked, "Who are you texting?"
"The internet."
And the rest was history. Beautiful, magical, technological history. And we set it up so our tweets come to our phones...so sometimes my twitter is just a conversation with Eric. But don't let that deter you...we have awesome conversations.

one kitten, please

Sometimes life is adorable. And you can think about certain things and suddenly there's a smile on your face you can't fight...and you feel silly because you're alone. But there you are with a giggly grin on your face, launching into memories that make your eyes close. I love those moments. If I could live in those memories...I don't think I'd want to live there forever...just for a while until I could make new ones.

Now all I want is a kitten.

Did you know I have a family?

It's true. I'm not an orphan like poor little Kelly.
Here is my Family:


Now, let's take a closer look...
Here is my dad. Also known as Rex. Or...Spiderdad? Anyway, he's hip. He's the hippest.

He loves BYU anything and Scifi almost anything. That's what I love about him. When I come come, I get to watch cool Scifi movies and shows with him and if I don't understand something, he can explain it even if he's never seen it before. He just gets it. ha. He's a top soccer refaree and was a top coach when I was little. He used to get thrown off the field when bad calls were made. haha. And I'd say, "That's my dad!" He loves keeping up with us kids. He loves listening to the music we listen to and going to concerts we go to. My favorite story of dad that shows who he is exactly is...
We were on vacation, staying in a hotel...Doug and Emily and I stayed up late watching The Twilight Zone and decided to go out on a midnight run to Wendy's or something. Down in the lobby, we saw dad laying on the couch with a remote in his had watching tv....but asleep. We all giggled...poked him...tired to wake him up. "Dad? Dad...you should probably go to bed."
"No. I'm watching this."
"You're watching...Man of the House on tv?...you better just go to bed. haha..."
He shifted and protested and finally just said, "No, if I go to bed it means my vacation is over!"
This is dad sleeping through mom reading scriptures to us. haha. Here is my mother. She thinks all occasions are good for her big down coat; she gets cold a lot. And she loves her children so she wears the fur hats they bring back from Russia even if she looks so funny in them.
Here are some texts I've saved from my mom over the past little while...I don't want to explain them because...I just don't want to. They're far better at face value:
"Thank you o BAMA"
"Cool. You are HUCK finn and tom SAWYER"
"Thanks. I show up every day. That's why homer simpson go crazy. Don't mind if I do."
"You are welcome. You are a good college girl. Thanks you fro putting them in the corn field."
"How's your staring problem? Mine is not solved. I am on the bus and I do not want to be caught staring :) :) :)"
"Want some cat hair soup?"
"This one lady on my express bus must be a man."
"That is a new career. Naming hopeless dolls."
"That is so nice of you Addy to rip Nacho's face off and set her on fire. Very nice. Such sweet drug wars. Very good."
"Airplane you on? Love, Yoda"


Ain't they sweet?


These are the boys. They're the oldest. Robbie likes to tackel people and sometimes pull them onto his lap, like he did to doug here in this picture...
And this is Robbie's gorgeous wife Sarah. She fits right in. She calls me on the phone singing Phil Collins and calls me "Nat the Rat." She's so fabulous. Robbie got a good one.
And Doug likes to wear ski masks when mom says, "Get dressed for caroling."
Something funny happened in our family. The older siblings somehow got the short stick. But Robbie still bullies Doug and I still force Emily to get me things from the kitchen.
We're awesome.
This was a boring blog because I didn't feel like doing it but I did it anyway. So. Eat it. I'm awesome.

Did you know I have cats?

I have cats. Did you know that I have cats? I'm not a gross cat person who smells like pee and invites strays in. No. I just happen to have to cats who rule. Rule harder than your stupid cats.


This is Nacho. We got her in July 1998. She's 11 now. This is how we named her: We couldn't decide. Emily and I were in LOVE with her, she was so cute with ears too big for her head. We came up with all kinds of names but I don't think she liked any of them. Robbie, the oldest brother was waaaay too cool for kittens or anything that wasn't No Use For A Name back then, so he didn't care one way or another who she was or what her name should be. We ended up submitting names in a hat and pulling them out, talking about them. What should we name you? Or cat's name before her was Sgt. Tibbs. Robbie got fed up with us stressing over what to name her and said, "Just name her Nacho. Her name is Nacho, okay?" (Named after an Aquabat member) and we all said okay and we said, "Nacho," and her ears pulled back. And we knew that was her name.
Now, Nacho and I have had an interesting relationship. We got her in July, so I like to say that she's my cat, since it was around my birthday. She would sleep on my pillow at night, and I would sleep with no pillow. But, man. She's mean. haha. Once she gets the look in her eyes, she doesn't give up. Once she wants to destroy you, she won't stop until you are destroyed. The only way we have found to stifle this killing instict is to throw a really heavy blanket over her and run away. One time she got mad at me, I don't remember why, but I was slowly backing away from her, out of my room. She was sitting, staring up at me a couple feet away with her ears back and her eyes huge. Oh, she was mad. I just kept slowly taking steps back and then BAM! She jumped up to my FACE. She grabbed the back of my head and started biting my forehead. And man she's hard to pry off you. I just grabbed her and threw her to the ground, slammed the door and ran off. hahaha. What is wrong with her?
She also won't drink just water from a bowl. She would rather dry up and die than drink like a normal cat. When she was a baby, I spoiled her and wanted her to love me the most so I would keep a fancy dish in the hall by my room and pour fancy bottled water in it. Ever since, she won't drink water if she doesn't see where it came from. If it's old and stagnant, won't drink it. She needs to see it pour out of a Fuji water bottle orrr...her other favorite, from the sink. She lays on the toilet seat until someone passes the bathroom then makes a little, quiet, questioning purring sound. She cocks her head as if to say, "Would you mind?" So you turn on the faucet for her, and she laps away. She's not a normal cat. She's also huge. She weighs like 18lbs. She's huge and slow moving (unelss she wants you dead) and we love her.

And then there's Addy. Let's discuss how she came into the family first, shall we? Well, there we were. On the street. And the white trash family down the raod had a box of new kittens. How could Emily and I pass that kind of opportunity up? I always stop and play with the kittens or puppies in the Walmart parking lot. Ohhh I love it. So we were playing with this box of kittens and thought, we gotta get mom in on this. MOM! We want a kitten! Nacho needs a friend! Nacho looked over at us like, "please." We used all our logic, "Look how lonely Nacho looks....but they're so cute...what does money compare to love?..." Somehow it worked and we got to take home a little kitten. Oh man. Hahah. And she was nuts. Serisouly, we could have named her Nuts and it would have been just as fitting.
She was so nuts. She would just walk around the room with her eyes huge like she wanted to take everyhting in and suddenly, out of nowhere, she would pounce on something. Oh, what is that? What is she playing with? Oh, it's just a shadow. And now it's an indent in the carpet from where we moved the table...she jumped on everything. And got distracted SO easily. If she saw you from across the room, it didn't matter what she was doing, she would run to you and run up your pant leg until she was sitting on your shoulder. You wouldn't know what hit you. So then we thought, what should we name her? We thought of a few: Socks, Mittens, Muffins, Sam...but nothing stuck. Then we thought, well she probably has ADD...let's just name her Addy. Done. She likes to bring us presents. Frogs, dragonflies, lizards, snakes...anything she can find. She LOVES to bring home frogs. She never hurts any of the animals she catches, she just wants to bring them inside to show us and then play with them some more.She brings in these little frogs in her mouth and sets them down. Once they come out of their shock, they start jumping around and Addy watches them. She bats them with her paw and eventually pounces again, carrying the little froggy in her mouth over to us. See? See how good I am at catching it? I did that outside. I saw it. I saw it and I knew you'd love it. Do you love it? Do you? Did you see me catch it? .... Yes, Addy. We saw it. Now, let's take the nice frog back outside...

Ohhhh I love my cats.
I love my family too. Maybe I'll make a blog about them...

The Death of a Journal

I'm on the last page of my journal that I started ten months ago. When I first started it, I didn't like it because it had lines, and I don't like lines. And it wasn't spiral bound, and I like to be able to flip it open on itself. But then I started telling it all my secrets and now it knows me better than any other book. So I'm sad to leave it on a shelf and pick up a new journal that doesn't know me at all. I'm just supposed to start telling it all my secrets and hope that it accepts me? Well...fine. I guess I have no other choice. Unless I just flip open this one again and start from the beginning...write my new story in between the lines of the old one...but that would be messy and obnoxious to read. So, there is no other option than to move on. Close one book and open another. I've done it before. I have a total of probably over 15 journals since I was 8 years old. So I know how to do this. But, it just hasn't felt so hard before. It's probably different now that I don't live with my parents so I don't have to write in code and also because I have a lot more of myself figured out than I did in middle and high school. So it's more real when I write and not just: "Adam talked to me! Mr. Wright put us in the same group because he totally knows I like him. I mean, who doesn't know I like him. So I was standing next to him and he was like, 'You ready to cut open this pig?' And I was all, 'Oh yeah. I'm tough.' And he laughed. Oh man, he totally thinks I'm funny. YES!" (That is probably very close to a real life journal entry).

I guess I should say some words:
Journal, I'm really sad I have to leave you now. You were a really good friend to me during hard times. Whenever I had too much inside of me, you knew just how to soak some of it up so I could breathe again. You're a good keeper of secrets. You could get kind of heavy and I didn't always want to take you everywhere with me, but you would get sad if I didn't, so I always ended up taking you with me anyway. You made my arms stronger. And don't worry, I'll pick you up again because I love reading through your pages. I won't be far away.

Welcome new journal. I hope you can handle my abuse.

Ex's

Maybe no one ever reads my blog because there are no pictures on it. Or probably because I never write on it. Orrrr because no one knows it exists. Those are all fine because it's just the internet that will explode one day.

Let's talk about ex's.


This is my ex-job. John R. Green Co. Quality products for school and office. They really were quality products. I packed boxes full of colored pencils, pens, chalk, desk calendars, books, fake snow...you name it, we sent it to teachers. One time Carissa and I bought a bunch of that fake snow (I think $100 worth) and we put it all over her floor and turned on the fog machine and we had a winter wonderland party. Why? Because we are awesome.
And that job was awesome. I packed the boxes like Tetris and carried an 80lb box across the whole warehouse once. I was buff then...I miss that job.


This is my ex-roommate. She left me for a mission. Here are things I miss about her:
Sometimes when a song would come on, she would start to sing like a pop star and plug one ear...but then...she'd just plug both ears and close her eyes and sing really off key and I would pee my pants. Anytime she would talk to Kelly Thomson, Kelly would say, "Rachel...shut up." She loved that. She also would put random items down my pants if my crack was showing, take pictures of me when I looked bad and write me hate mail. We ran a 5K together. When we were having a bad day we would come home and turn on Buddah's Delight and dance to it. I hope she gets sent home from her mission early....

I guess I have more ex's like...ex boyfriends and ex hobbies but. I think I'm done.

My animal fear.

In lieu of Kelly's recent blog about his fear of deer, let me explain my animal fears.

As many know, I fear crustaceous animals. Fear them like Kelly fears bee-spitting deer. Crabs, lobsters, crawfish...Oh gosh. Just thinking about these crunchy, pointy, surrying-accross-the-sand-at-you animals makes my skin crawl. (As I sat there thinking of other adjectives to explain them, my face distorted as if I were watching someone throw up....you know...that disgusted, uncomfortable feeling. That was my face for a good minute and a half).

I had a few encounters with these animals on my trips to the Pacific and Atlantic oceans; a few being way too many for me.
On the beaches of North Carolina with Carissa...oh North Carolina. That places is a horror story. If you even think about going out on the sand at night: crabs. Everywhere. They like to hide in the day time...but at night, they think they own the place. We went down the the beach at night a couple of times and it was like I was being prepared to walk through a zombie-infested warehouse. "What if I see one? What if it comes at me?! What if I step on one? They'll attack! OH GOD!!!" We walked out onto the sand and I, convinced that the crabs would run away if they felt the vibrations of my steps, stompped the whole time we were on the sand. I stomped and screamed, "I AM AN ELEPHANT! I WILL CRUSH YOU ALL!!" I flung my flashlight all around me in a frantic search for crabs so I would be prepared to kick sand or scream at them. At one point I was so afraid of crabs coming close to me, I began to stomp fiercly, flash-dance style, screaming "DON'T STOP ME NOW!....I'LL MAKE A SUPER-SONIC MAN OUT OF YOUUUUUU!!!" Crabs fear Queen? Crabs fear ME! I am the QUEEN OF CRABS!
I threw rocks. Kicked sand. Screamed Queen songs and at one point demanded Carissa to, "GIVE ME YOUR TASER!" She didn't think that was safe or humane (although she pinned down live insects and frogs when she was young; what does she know about humane?)

I think my favorite moment with crabs is when Carissa and I visited an island. On this island there was an area of still water off from the ocean. It was beautiful, however, also infested with water crabs. "Don't worry, they only touch or pinch you if you step on them," said Carissa. Moments later one swam up to her and pinched her butt. I was NOT getting into that water. I somehow plucked up the courage to swim (I refused to walk in fear of the crabs) across the still water to another small island of sand but I couldn't fidn the courage to go back. I ended up freaking out and having Carissa carry me across on her back as I frantically said, "Is that one? I think that's one. I feel them on my legs. I think they're swimming behind me. Carissa, they're on me. We have to get out of here..."

So. I'm afraid of crabs. That's the point. Kelly is afraid of deer....I'm afraid of crabs. God created scary animals on this planet.
I hope there are no crabs in heaven.

Ikea

I'm going to Ikea today. So..I have to think of all the things I need...
Why not think on this blog.
Good idea.

- Bathroom rug I hate having to dry off while I'm still IN the shower. Especially in my tiny weird brown shower... I want to stand on a furry rug and dry off on that.
- Maybe one of those other bathroom rugs that go under the toilet. My family always has those, they look so fancy. But if you accidentally pee on the floor...that rug is done for. So...I'll have to weigh the amount of times I accidentally pee on the floor against style...see what comes up.
- Trash cans. Two of them. One for each of my bathrooms. That's right. I have two. The downstairs one is for teeth and hair and everything because it's just across the hall from me. But, I have to go upstairs to shower. And they need trashcans. I keep blowing my nose and throwing it away in the toilet...and that's weird.
- A stuffed animal. Ikea always has the best stuffed animals. I already have two best friends I got from Ikea: A stuffed fox named Chester because he is SO stoned all the time. (Like Chester from Sifl and Olly) and A giant stuffed shark named Hambone. He watches shark week with me and sometimes comes to work with me when I'm sad. He's such a pal. I can always go for a stuffed animal.

Other than that, I can't think of much else I might need from Ikea. I know I need more records to sit on my floor and listen to. And I know I need some nails to hang up my ELO poster. Oh, and some more dresses and possibly another bathing suit (I might be going on a boat this Saturday, I gotta look my best). But those aren't Ikea things. Perhaps I'll be walking down the isles and see something that just CALLS my name. And I'll say, "Oh, I must have this!" And it'll probably be something strange and unnecessary like a shoelace organizer or an ice tray in the shape of body parts. I don't even have any shoes with laces.
I could use some new sandals....maybe Ikea will have some of those. Or maybe they'll just have sandal holders and organizers and posters with a trendy design of screenprinted sandals.

If all else fails, I can always come home with the free, tiny brown pencils that are great for games such as Scattagories and Boggle.

Littlefoot's mom died. Sara's dad died; he was the only family she had and she was forced to live in the attic. Thomas J. was stung by bees and needed his glasses. Largeman told Sam he couldn't be with her, he had to figure things out. Peter just didn't want to grow up, Wendy had no chance. Christian's first true love died in his arms just after he found out she really loved him. Wilson floated away. Trevor was stabbed and all he was trying to do was some good.
Life is sad.
And then I puke.

An exerpt from somewhere

He switched his weight from one leg to the other and gave me a menacing look. It wasn't the look a man gives a woman when he wants her to believe him, it was the look a man gives when he will defile her for the sake of being proved right. A chilling flirtation that held my eyes to his. I felt his look press the knot that had formed in Margot's car back to the hot corner of my gut. It seemed to burn deeper as his lips parted slightly and he began to speak, "Oh yeah, smart ass recycle girl, I'm sure you know a lot about the world. How old are you, thirteen?"



Do you like it?

Woah blogs.

I love how much of my mind I lose when I'm in school.
Right now, I'm not in school so my mind is intact. But I was reading back on all the blog posts I've written and peed my pants. I'm hilarious.
That's the conclusion I've come to.
I'm hilarious and this blog proves it because...did you READ that Y2K blog? hahaha. Oh man, I'm funny.
Is it okay to claim yourself as hilarious? Because...looks like I just did.

My birthday just happened. Let me tell you (the imaginary people I imagine reading this imaginary blog. imaginary...) what happened.

Eric called at 7am. He left his wallet at my house. So I picked up some clothes off my wooden floor and handed his wallet to him when he came.
Doug called at 8am as he was driving his roommate to work. My alarm wasn't supposed to go off until 9 so...that was a fun conversation of me yawning a lot and looking at what time it was. But also loving the sound of Doug's laugh. He has the heart of a lion. And by lion I mean, 12 year old. :)
I cleaned my room then went to work where Everyone told me Happy Birthday and Brittany arranged a birthday dinner at California Pizza Kitchen for me. Delicious.
Alex tricked me into finding my presents in his top drawer which included: a pot ring, the classic late 80's movie Stay Tuned, an A Camp shirt and poster and Strawberry Bubblicious.
I watched Stay Tuned.
I fell in love with the zombie Wayne's World.
Then I fell asleep thinking: I have the best friends.

So now I'm 22. I've decided it means I get to hold up the peace sign twice in all my pictures like an asian but it's allowed because I'm not being racist, I'm just telling people how old I am.

It's my time to shine.

Brian Epstein

"If Keats had waited as long as I did to get going, he wouldn't have written more than a couple of poems before his death" - Brian Epstein.
I often feel this way. When will I get going?...

"Memory is what makes our lives. Life without memory is no life at all. Our memory is out coherence, our reason, our feeling, even our action. Without it we are nothing." - Surrealist film-maker Luis Bunuel.

at work.

Once I have looked through failblog, facebook, funny exams, tumbrl and multiple other blogs...work is boooooooooooring.

Blogs.
Writing out your inner thoughts and feelings on the internet.
There is a girl at my work who always says, "I don't like ____, it's just too personal." (She once said this in reference to Facebook asking "What's on your mind?")
But, you know, nothing is personal on the internet anymore. There's no such thing as personal. There's naked people on the internet; you can probably find a naked picture of anyone. Your fourth grade boyfriend who gave you a butterfly bracelet. Your kindergarten teacher at Woodstock. Alex and I typed in "Lisa Loeb" at google.com and it said to us: "Did you mean Lisa Loeb's thong?" People are baring their souls everyday on the internet in their blogs or other internet journaling websites. Bare: to expose. Exposed souls. Naked souls. See? Nudity is everywhere on the internet and nudity=nothing is personal.

Sooooo...

First day of school

First day of school!
Get out a clean sheet of paper and a pencil.
Can I use a pen?
Sure, yes. A pen works too. Just a clean sheet of paper and something to write with. Anything.
Can I borrow a pencil?
Yes. Here.
This is a pen.
Are we taking notes?
No. Not yet. Just...listen.
This pen doesn't work.

I went to school today. Middle School. And a girl named Nicole told me how she fell off of a wall and cracked her elbow and she has to get good grades this semester because she's on parole because she brought a 3 1/2" blade to school and somebody found it. She wasn't going to take it out of her pocket, she just brought it because it was cool. She also isn't afraid to tell cops that they're gay if she thinks they're gay. And she went to Oregon and learned that if you say the word "fag" in Oregon, they'll kill you. And her dad asked her if she learned anything there and she said, "No, fag."
I think I am actually cut out for this.
I even wore a vest.