Thursday, October 29, 2009

I'd have some Chinese children.

I just took 3 personality tests. I know, right? Narcissist. Or insecure. Or both. But I mean, who really knows themselves? I've never looked in the mirror and thought "Yep, that's me." It's usually "Wow, small nose" or "big eyes" or "have my bangs always looked like that?" and that's just appearance. Personality is that much more abstract. Just like I need someone to tell me if my hair looks ok, I need someone else to tell me the nature of my soul. But maybe you're still hung up on the number 3. excessive, you're thinking. Maybe. But let me explain. The results of my first test were disappointing. "Blue". Boring. Yes I could have paid $29.95 for a 20 page analysis, but it would mean living on the street next month. So I moved on to the Big 5. Which told me I'm generally very anxious. They're full of crap. (It may have mentioned something about defensive). So finally, the Meyers Brigg test. EFNP! "Champions". Extovert, Feeling, Intuitive, Perceiving. Only 2-3% of the population. Just like Phil Donahue.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009


Hey remember that one time?

Monday, October 26, 2009

Nevermind nevermind nevermind nevermiiiind

People seem to have a problem with my face. I guess I don't smile all that often. I don't remember any instance ever when someone has said, "Wow, you look so happy today." Instead I hear a lot of "What's wrong?" "Why are you mad?" or even "What did I do?" The answers are always "Nothing," "I'm not" and again, "nothing". Though in actuality after their expressed concern something is wrong, apparently my face, and I'm mad because they asked about it. Remember that Young Womens leader who told you not to give away your kisses to just anyone? I think I took that lesson a little too much to heart and extended a talk intended to keep beehives chaste into a mode of interaction with every fellow human being. In my mind smiling at everyone and everything just makes you a floozy.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

No names

In Academia an F means fail. It’s meant to bring shame and despair to the inadequate test taker or paper writer. I’ve lived my life in fear of this end-all. There seemed to be no coming back from a Fail. And I failed. It was a test in Mr. Nozowa’s CP Chemistry class. When he passed the scantron bubble sheets back with the scores printed on the bottom corner, I saw my 49% and became short of breath. With tears welling in my eyes I thought of the colleges I could no longer attend, the look on my parents’ faces, and my ultimate failure as a human being. I looked over at Jesse who sat next to me. He sometimes came to class, sometimes stayed awake, but only to carve offensive phrases in the desk with a compass. I asked how he fared and he held up his scantron. Where my sheet had one penciled-in bubble on each line— my best guess at the right answer, his started with one bubble, centered on top, then three on the next, then five, and so forth until the final result showed the figure of a Christmas Tree. He had added sketches of presents at the bottom and a star and the top. He smiled slyly and there was no doubt in my mind that Jesse was very pleased with himself. His failure was a greater success than an A would have been. I’m not sure where Jesse is now. Last I heard he was publishing poetry. And last I heard he was very happy.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

What's up, Brooklyn?

Sometimes people ask me why I'm not married. Which is weird. I usually respond with "I don't know." This is a lie. I do know.
I'm not married because today, for the third week in a row, I forgot that Wednesday is garbage day and rolled our cans into the street only after I heard the truck drive by. The cans will remain on the street until next Wednesday.
I'm not married because today I got hungry and drove to my family's home and ate left-over spaghetti. I also stole three cans of diet coke. (Yeah that was me).
I'm not married because it's 1:58 pm and I'm under the covers writing a blog and youtubing Lil' Wayne. "I'm a gangsta Miss Katie"
I'm not married because the only thing I've successfully cooked in 3 months is muddy buddies.
And finally, I'm not married because I'm ok with all of this. Maybe that's bad.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

I'm glad I'm a man. And so is Lola.

Years ago I saw an episode of Oprah. Not that it was the only episode of Oprah I have ever seen, or that I haven’t seen other episodes since, but years ago I saw a particular episode of Oprah. Her guest of choice for said episode was a renowned Dietician. I was soon bored, as hearing “eat right and exercise” stated in so many different ways for an hour failed to enlighten. But then he posed a question that truly stood out. Speaking to a crying obese woman, he said, “Are you eating to live, or living to eat?” At the time I paused and reflected on my day’s caloric intake, wondering if I had enjoyed the cookie at lunch just a bit too much. But today the question, slightly altered, haunts me for a different reason. Lately I’ve had to ask myself “Am I writing to live, or living to write?” I recognize that very few people write to live, if any, but it sure is dramatic worded like that. In responding to my own query, I hang my head and admit that more often than not, I am living to write.

Monday, October 19, 2009

Agnes, Agatha, Jermain and Jack

I made the mistake of eating lunch at the teca during Provo High's lunch break. I heard the following one table over:
"Wait, your mom is single?"
"Your mom is hot!"
"Shut up"
"No really. What if I married your mom?"
Then my phone rang and I stopped listening.

The older I get, the less of a priority showers become.

My Best Buddy has Fragile X Syndrome. Which is fascinating. It's just one small mutation in one X chromosome that changes everything about him. But that's true of all of us, isn't it? The effects aren't as drastic as they are with him, but so many small things make up us. Even if it's not DNA strands or chromosomes. The books we read, the people we meet, the songs we repeat, all shape us. So are we more ourselves everyday? Or are we just always changing?

Thursday, October 15, 2009

She says she wants diamonds, I took her to Ruby Tuesday.

Pirate Island. We should have known. But our curiosity got the better of us and we succumbed to our natural consumer tendencies. I thought maybe I was wrong in my premature judgments, assuming the worst. I'll never doubt myself like that again. Pirates+pizza=not delicious. El Azteca=delicious. Always. I'm not even a math major and I've got that all figured out.
I learned a term I really like today. "Unacknowledged Legislator". Like John Lennon. Or essentially anyone who creates art with influence. Do we have those anymore? I can't think of anyone one artist of our generation who stands out as a leader for a cause, unless it's the insane clown posse. Maybe we're too multifaceted. Or maybe we appreciate art for art now. A little more order to society, an appropriate time and place, etc. But that's boring isn't it? I'd rather a musician tell me how to think or act instead of anyone with real authority. Ok fine if we're being totally honest I'd rather be the musician who tells people how to think and act. Then finally suspenders and leisure suits will make a come-back.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

You're gonna carry that weight.

Today my ipod pulled an ultimatum. I guess I haven't been treating it very well,
taking it for granted and what-not. I'm easily annoyed and stand-offish, especially when it pulls the same selection of songs in the same order so many times. So this morning when I skipped five songs in a row, it just stopped. I interpreted this to mean "I think you need some space. You're obviously not that into me. Why don't you take some time to figure out what it is you really want." So after a five minute walk in silence, we worked it out. I even listened to a couple songs I don't really like just to make peace. I mean sure it's not the cutest, newest or smartest pod in town, but it's there for me. And life without it would be...quiet.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Amazing Grace.

32 more hits, and we're at 10,000. Come on guys. If we make it you each get a hug, or whatever treat I may have on me when we run into each other. Probably a stick of gum. Do you think Obama will finally notice my blog once we pass this threshold? I bet 10,000 hits is the number that will get me knighted or at least a purple heart or something. I bet Oprah will call. The mayor will present me with a key to the city and I'll be front page news. Sure, most likely more than half of these hits are my own. Sure, when the tracker was installed the installer said something along the lines of "I don't really know if this is accurate". But does that really matter? Why are you so negative?

Monday, October 12, 2009

Halo. Halo. Halo. Halo. Haloooooo.

I saw Neil and looked the other way. It would be awkward to say hi. Even though I know his last name. And I know he was born on Albert Einstein's death date. I know that he once invented a contraption to help his mom carry milk home from the store. I know that he has three younger brothers who look just like him, and a younger sister who looks different only because of longer hair. I know that he spent a year in Japan. I know that his dad teaches on campus. I know that his house is on the hill. And I know that he knows just as much about me. But it's been so long since we were in Mr. Grass's 5th grade class together, or Mr. Greenwood's American History, or even since we graduated high school.
I like to think that the people I know now are permanent. That we'll always be close and continue to share our lives. But maybe that's unrealistic. Maybe in 6 years you and I will be walking in opposite directions down the street and I'll look the other way cause it would be awkward to say hi. I really hope not.

Friday, October 9, 2009

And every breath we drew was hallelujah

While peeling and slicing apples in the basement of her grandmother's home, Allie told me the entire storyline of the latest and the hottest young adult book series.

REDIKILUS. But, as most seemingly insignificant things do, it led me to think. Why is our outlook on the future so despairing? It seems that in the mind of every Science Fiction writer, the next century or two will bring events so catastrophic that we will be reduced to the state of the early Egyptian slaves, but instead of pharaohs cracking whips will be robots with laser beams. Or monkeys in snazzy jumpsuits. When's the last time you read a futuristic piece portraying the next stages of our world as a bright and happy place? There are no unicorns in the future. There are no rainbows in the future. Only human sacrifices and Spaceship warfare. It's a good message to send to the growing generation: your brain will inevitably be harvested and fed to the inhabitants of Jupiter, so don't bother with your algebra assignment.

Also, my professor is distractingly attractive. Yesterday I asked a question (one I spent all of class formulating). I have no idea what his answer was. All I know is that he smiled and tossed his hair.

Today i wrote a small segment excluding the letter e. What was that? You'd like to read it? No. No I can't. No really, you don't want to read it. Oh stop it you. It's silly. Ok fine.

Looking out on our land from high, all is lit with a rising sun,
casting a warm glow on roads and hills far down. Our group walks away,
trailing up toward Timp’s summit, and I cast a final longing look at
Provo, counting hours until food and hydration. Following a strong
boy, I fail to match his rapidity and fall into isolation. Though I
don’t mind, as all within sight brings abundant occupation of mind. A
small flood springing from nothing runs along my rocky path, making
hiking hazardous, and I think what might go wrong without company.
Slipping, lying, dying .

Sure it doesn't make a ton of sense, but fetch! No e's!

Thursday, October 8, 2009

fated to pretend

Brenda has a bowl. It sits on her desk. In the bowl is an assortment of chocolate. Cheap chocolate. Chocolate that comes in an assortment bag from Costco. Hershey's minis, kit-kats, mini-Reeses cups, and bite size twix.
This morning I woke up happy, because it's Thursday. On Thursday I see Brenda and the bowl on her desk.
I'm at Smith's, buying one thing or another at least 13 times a week. I could easily pick up an assortment of cheap chocolate. I could even opt for a truly delicious treat, as I walk by the Provo bakery on the way to Brenda's desk.
But I think that would ruin Thursdays.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

whatever you like

You know it's a weird day when a leaf falls on your head and you interpret it as a personal attack and start to cry.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Grab hold of your bootstraps

My scarf smells like froot-loops.

Every time my professor says "courtly love" I think he's saying "Courtney Love", and I wish he was, because it would certainly liven up our discussion of the Renaissance.

The cashier at El Azteca thinks I speak Spanish. And the last few times I've gone in she's only spoken to me in Spanish. I can understand, but i can't respond. I therefore come off as an arrogant, condescending jerk who refuses to communicate in the language more comfortable for her. I try to throw in as many graciases as possible, because I know how hard life is for the people she doesn't like. Namely, Allie. For some reason this woman hates Allie. She never announces Allie's order when it's ready, and the food will sit on the counter until we happen to check. Last time I walked by and she said "Here, your friend's food" and handed me the fish taco.

I walked home today to find a package on the front porch for our new roommate. It was a large package. "Omaha steaks" read the label. Awesome.

Monday, October 5, 2009

But you sat on your hands

For a while now, I've been anxiously waiting for the day when I'd have internet at home. I've dreamed of the activities that would once more be virtually available within the cozy walls of my picturesque room. The HBLL 5th floor is short on charm, and the character of the curtains, the bedspread, the red floor and Carl my pet Hermit Crab promise inspiration, while I sit in my pajamas with popcorn at hand. But...nothing. I have nothing to say to any of you. Dear readers, have we reached that point in our relationship? Have I told you everything there is to tell? Will we now spend meals avoiding eye contact, staring at uneaten peas on our plates, wondering how we ended up here? Will our conversations be reduced to small talk (or type as it were)? Is there Blog-couples counseling?

Friday, October 2, 2009

More fish in the sea

I often wish I was (were?) Harry Potter. No. I always wish I was (were?). And today I came one step closer.

Opening my copy of the novel we were discussing in class, I found written in the margin "Odysseus has boar-tusk wound".

Thank you Half-Blood Prince. I bet you loved my mom, huh?

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Like a copcar

Edward Cullens. Not McCullen. I'm obviously a huge fan.

New Hampshire's license plate reads: "Live Free or Die." Sounds like a threat.What If I want to live oppressed? Am I not free to do so? Must I die if I choose not to live free? And isn't that not very free?

Snuggies are on sale at Smiths.

Sometimes I walk into the library restroom and the lights are off. Confusing. But then I look over and see someone sleeping on the couch. K really? Of all the places to take a nap?