It looks like Roo is just being nice, but don't be fooled. He's really trying to eat me. He's a warrior. 

 

Noble Roo. 

But we just call him Roo for short. 

His name is Roald Amundsen, after the famous Norwegian Artic explorer. 

By the way, did I mention that one of our Christmas presents was a 6 week old American Eskimo mini? 

I stand before a very important decision. I have the option of moving to Cincinnati with Dad, and he’s flying in on Tuesday morning to discuss it.

When this was first brought to my knowledge on Monday night, that bitter, sullen evening, I was actually quite relieved. In the midst of the excruciating angst of that night the glimmer of something new reached out to me from the distant horizon, and it shone quite pleasantly. Looking forward to a new city, with its crisp but familiar smells and tones was much less painful than looking behind and around me at the shattered power struggle that my family life had become. I imagined, and still do, the sweet release of just leaving the shambles of a time crushed by greed and deceit rather than sweeping down and trying to piece them together. The angry voices seep out of my mind as I let my eyes close and picture the lushness of Cincinnati, of cutting my hair into that adorable bob I’ve dreamt of for two years, of a job in a coffee shop in beautiful Eden Park, of a new name and a new image a new slew of possibilities. Just thinking of a household run by reason as opposed to insecurity makes me yearn for a complete and immediate change.

But what if, upon my arrival, I step into that world simply to see that nothing has changed and that I still have yet to learn to be happy?

I’m not a fool; I realize that leaving Salt Lake will only rid myself of the manageable problems and leave me with nothing but the internal, vital struggles to live through. I understand how nonsensical it is to run. And running is exactly what I’m doing in some senses; I don’t want to beat out a shaky compromise with mum just to forget to turn my phone on and return home to see the FBI dusting my front porch for prints. It’s possible to work things out here, it would be good for mum and me, but I’m sick of trying to find a middle ground that her and I both know we’re not capable of standing on. What happens if dad departs on Thursday night without me and I’m cemented in this cycle of bliss and misery, struggling through another monotonous semester at the U, battling mum in the middle of the night, coming to realize that my life is hell and, just to top it off, that I still hate this wretched climate?

It would be so easy to kneel down and ask, but I’m afraid of what I’ll then know I need to do. I’m terrified to think that I could make life work in Utah because I no longer want to. I hate the feel of the air, I hate the sight of 13^th East. I’m sick of hearing my phone ring and I’m tired of panicking when I truly have yet to do anything devastatingly wrong.

In the end I’ll throw my hands up and leave the decision to everyone but the One I need to follow. Defeat will be an event my weaknesses will suffer eventually, but I know neither when nor how this will happen. Until then, my darlings, I’ll glide above without plunging in or even as much as feeling the water below me, darting about in an attempt to avoid every sensation that hurtles by.

How I hope to walk the path I yearn to experience. May bravery and determination appear and linger for but a moment and leave me fitter to endure.

Oh, make me thine forever!

And should I fainting be,

Lord, let me never, never,

Outlive my love for Thee.

I have been trying to change my display picture for, quite literally, 3 weeks. Everytime I try to change the bleeding image I get Cannot find file at specified URL: link is broken (failed request).

WTF man, WTF.

 

Christmas was interesting. Bryan came over, and three days later dad was on the phone with him telling him to discontinue seeing me. It’s been an interesting couple of days indeed.

I ran away again. (ran away, read: I turned my phone off while I was out and came back 45 minutes before curfew). Mum did things that were really unforgivable. I’m pissed off.

Dad suggested I consider going back to Cinci. Consider it I will.

Today I cried for an hour and watched Seinfeld for 4 and ½.

Bryan told me something extremely funny that Larry supposedly said a while back. This occurred after I asked Larry for a crit and I hadn’t been working nearly as hard as I should have been.

“That prissy little face, you just want to slap it.”

At this moment in time he briefly paused.

“And she’d like it.”

While surfing on some random website I stumbled upon the best little humorous tidbit I've heard in a long, long time:

"I will never get married. My mother is a social hand grenade"

Sirenic Lament

If only I could ascribe
all affection and inclination
that there dwells silently inside
to flights of the imagination
and crafts of a spirit most unkind,
that I in such do take dire pride,
the torture of the inner mind
I then attempt to actualize.
If only that were the extent
of the labors oft performed
in name of Aros’ great intent
and all convictions were deformed.
But alas, I ache to see,
that while pretension does abound,
the soaring thought of purity
does and always will hold ground.
It does flourish; it does thrive
in the most unlikely places,
the glance of ardor is alive
in the most sardonic faces.
That bitter cross of bliss and pain,
though feared by scores and throngs
will be felt and felt again
if for sound joy one longs.
And so I fear I cannot hide,
and what afflicts me still:
when rapture bids I let it guide
go to the fire I will.

note: I was hesitant to post this because I simply cannot write in iambic tetrameter. Iambic pentameter drove me mad in 9^th grade, and I vowed never to bother with it again.

Oh, it doesn’t matter. There are, indeed, a million ways to rationalize and justify all that I do, but it really doesn’t matter. I’m not worried about anything right now; I’m going to go change, curl up underneath my covers without removing my makeup, and I’m going to slumber peacefully and happily.

My date with Austin was fabulous, but my date with Bryan was better.

My eyes fell upon him immediately. The curious observation wasn’t spawned by his looks; although his features were anything but ordinary they didn’t generate a handsome or attractive face. I had met him before, this boy, and was rather surprised to find myself riveted by his seemingly inconsequential visage. A smug smile was forced from within as my gaze ran over him twice and then again. The way he acted, the simple way that he sat was absolutely captivating. The players around him tuned their instruments, sitting up properly and upright as expected as he smirked at the floor in front of him with squinted eyes. His dress matched that of the orchestra, naturally; he donned the same vest and uniform black pants, but his white shirt was the only wingtip with a French cuff. The high collar embraced his neck and framed his debonair, arrogant face ever so nicely. I noticed, rather quickly, that he had rolled up his sleeves to just below his elbows. The position he took in his chair was one that allowed the white shirt to flow smoothly down his arm before encountering the rolled fabric, and then that stretch of bare skin. When juxtaposed with the upright, starched and pressed boy in second chair next to him the semblance contained in this boy was enthralling. The aristocratic collar, the slackened back, the arrogant, open mouth, the casually yet beautifully rolled sleeve, it was all alluring, nice. I watched him as he slouched in his chair, with his upper back arched, his head raised and eyes on the floor, with a hand slung by his chair. His oboe swung in his completely relaxed left hand, and he didn’t move until the performance started.

When it did, however, he didn’t jolt upward and nervously finger his instrument like all those around him. He remained completely blasé, and when the time came, he slowly lifted the oboe to his mouth and began to play. It was entertaining; I knew exactly what he was doing, but I didn’t read it as such. As he played I almost saw the smoke from his Thai opium pipe curl up and surround his unperturbed face. I could picture him, such as many others, partaking of the drug simply to further think; I could see him stare off normally as he continued to inhale and slowly exhale. He adjusted the mouthpiece a couple of times, but remained for the most part as if in stone, sitting intelligently, his unconcerned eyes half closed, forever divinely insolent.

hmmm...phone... 

In so many ways I despise the disintegration of the language I’ve spoken for years; to read and to witness the mellifluous orchestra that was once a daily, almost routine exchange truly makes one pine for a return to the old ways of speech. The drab slur that whirls about me every second of every day never satisfies the need to express oneself, and I doubt it ever will. But, just like everything else that surrounds us, be it laudable or despicable, the dreadful vernacular that dribbles out of the mouth of almost every American does serve a purpose. It creates, you see, a simple and easy way to sieve through those who hear and target only those who are able to listen. Whenever I’m bursting with whatever sentiment that certainly is not a tidbit of information suitable for an audience composed of certain, matronly ears, I simply remember the darling ways of those who came before, and I’m excellent.

Today was fabulous for many reasons, all of which can be traced back to one particular reason, I suppose. Yes, I took my physics final and finished up my studio project in but a matter of hours, but it was spectacular because, well, the sky welcomed me a bit differently today. Even rough gravel intrigued me as opposed to dampening me; every curve was a bit softer and every jagged line a little bit less severe. My jovial frame of mind perfected the weather, the people I passed by and talked to, and even the exams were cheery in their own, firm way. Alas, it endures, and even this moment I feel as if I could yawn and find myself swept away by the supple wind. A tired but absolute grin rises to my face, and the world is a song once again.

Of course I’ll come back to this with that familiar salty savor on my lips, freshly falling from predictable but sincere angst, and I’ll curse myself for my silly foolishness. I see that moment hanging on the horizon, I do. But I can’t honestly say that it concerns me. Let the wind take me, let the rivers have me; I’d grin all the same to float down a tributary such as the one I’m bound to find right now.

Daddy comes in seven hours, and I can’t wait to see him again. I think I’ll stay up and clean, or perhaps not. It matters very little, I suppose. Goodnight my lovelies, and I hope you cherish the zeniths like I do. The depths are waiting, and, as sure as anything on this temptress of an earth, they will greet me soon like they always do.

No. Absolutely not.

You have no immunity to raised eyebrows

and carefully crafted questions

placed so well after a pause

in the conversation.

Your eyes flicker up once,

twice,

almost unable to constrain yourself.

Bask in the warm washing rays

of all you envision, all you think of,

while the world looks on and infers

a deluge of disrepute.

But go ahead. Go on and watch

all your fears rain down on you

in shards of self hatred

and regret.

Go ahead and fly,

only to rejoin the earth and see

that you left your God

seconds after you found him.

oh my goodness. Watch this one too. My stomach hurts from laughing, that is the funniest thing I've ever seen.

Hello. I'm still busy with finals and what not, and I will be until the 15th. I just wanted to drop a line and encourage all of you to watch the video clip of a very drunk elvis trying to sing.

Funniest video ever.

I looked out the window in uncertainty. Today was the first and only jury of studio, and I was scared out of my right mind. Crits had become unbearably painful for this last project, and I truly came to dread them. Today we were presenting our projects to a jury, a combination of 8 grad students hand picked by our very own Larry.

Larry entered the view and Mitch turned away.

“They going to be nice to us, Larry?” He inquired.

“Are you kidding me?” He grinned. “I picked them. They're going to make you cry.”

I refolded my scarf for the fifth time. That comment couldn't have been less necessary.

The actual jury wasn't too bad. They understood that this was our first jury, and treated us accordingly. I introduced myself and my concept, and stood back as they began to gently critique my work. It wasn't until Larry stepped forward that my fears were completely justified.

“Sorry, “ he said. “I said I wasn't going to say anything, and I haven't, but the jurors are being too nice. Your project is sculptural, not spacial. Your faulty concept fails to hide that you have yet to address the issues in the problem. This, this isn't doing anything. It's not working. It's much too linear; it fills space but doesn't activate it. Were you even listening during our last crit? I mean, we showed you the few things that were working, and I can't see anything in this piece that reflects that. It's not working.”

I glared back at him and nodded. The jurors promptly agreed.

After the crit I went to prof. Adams to get my grade for the preliminary. I scored a 1.4 out of 4.0, exactly half the points of the worst grade I had ever received. I nodded as the professor told me exactly why my project was rubbish and barely germane to the problem. I nodded back in complete agreement and returned to my stool.

I glared at Larry again. I don't care about Professor Adams and what he said. Respect is required for hate or anger or a sincere wound of some kind, and there isn't an ounce of respect in me for that man. But I respect Larry. In a sense his presence has always been a consolation; he does a spectacular job of trying to be a complete dick, but after all has been said and done his intentions aren't, well, completely cunt-master-bastard-ish (do excuse the language. Bad day.) Every hateful word that's ever been said to me and every one that has yet to fly my way ran through my head as I scrambled to find an expression, an action, anything offensive enough to portray my disgust.

I sat in that stool, listening to the rest of the critiques, completely down trodden. I shook a bit as I squinted my eyes and trying to calm myself. I barely noticed the soft nudge on my arm.

It was Larry, standing next to me, his eyes still lingering on the project that was currently being critiqued.

“Did you get good advice?” He asked.

I nodded, motioning down to the full page of notes written in my sketchbook.

“Good. Don't crap up your project because you have yet to make minimalism work. Just sit down and make it work.”

He stepped forward to talk with the jurors. I sat on my stool, my fingers clutching my mouth in mock contemplation, my crossed legs resting on the bars of the stool. I glanced down at my sketchbook to see a sheet of light pierce the window to my left and fall on the floor in front of me.

I just wrote a rather lengthy update. If you haven't noticed, it's not here.

Apple Computers are EVIL.

I love the Black Eyed Peas.

 

I recall a time of frustration and confusion during which I received help from my deity above. I was 17 at the time, and had just begun college in the hopes of pursuing an education in architecture. Already, through the majority of my first semester, I had become discouraged from continuing an education in this field. The concept behind the design process class I had was a brutal one; time and time again my ideas and visions were ripped to pieces as I and others were humiliated in front of the class. This was to be the easiest time during my education, and I heard story after story of the pains endured during the arduous journey of architecture schooling. I decided to abandon the idea, and looked around hopelessly for something else that sparked my interest and passion as architecture had done.

I found nothing, though, that did such a thing. I loved nothing academically as dearly as I loved the unavoidable art of architecture. Surely there is something less grueling, thought I, and I persisted in finding something else to study.

Mum saw my confusion, and persuaded me to come with her to visit an architect in our ward. Although there were a couple of distinguished, successful architects in our old and new ward, we visited a woman who had just received her license a couple months before. She owned her own small business in renovation and loved what she did. She truly inspired me, and I knew I couldn’t discard my passion as easily as I had hoped.

“It was a miracle I made it through that program,” She told me. “Sometimes they work you so hard that you don’t even see the point. If it’s meant to be, however, it will happen.”

Is this where the Lord wanted me? I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that I could thrive in anything the Lord supported me in, and I was ashamed to see that I had yet to fall to my knees and ask:

“Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?”

Later that evening, I decided to humble myself and do just that. I knelt before my Lord and begged for guidance. Tears ran down my cheeks as I listened to the humming silence that surrounded me, and as I listened I knew I would be answered. My hands were clasped together firmly, and I knelt there determined to be able to hear what the Lord was trying to tell me.

It didn’t take long for my mind to clear and for the thought of my mother, of all people, to come to my mind. I then felt that I needed to research and investigate the situation entirely, and that I needed to discuss what I found with mum. I was somewhat bemused by the answer, but grateful and happy to be assured, once again, of my heavenly father’s care and everlasting love for me.

The next day I attended my Intro to Architecture class. A guest speaker stood in front of us and lectured on the ruthlessness of modern architecture. I, being an aficionada of the modern movement, dismissed the majority of his comments as maudlin personal beliefs that concerned me not at all. Then, however, he turned his attention, rather abruptly, to the future of all those sitting in the auditorium.

“There is hope for a wonderful professional life, no matter what you choose to do,” he assured us. “You will be birthing creative ideas to the benefit of those you serve in whatever profession you enter.”

I smiled to witness the grace and benevolent mercy of my God. He had answered my humble prayer yet again, reassured me and comforted me. His promises are kept in every situation. Every sincere prayer will be answered. I will continue to search, for I have yet to find what I want to do. I have yet to decide what I will study and where I will go. But I hope I have the wisdom to go where the Lord directs me, for I know only there will I find happiness, and eventual acceptance of self.

My Shepherd, now receive me;

My Guardian, own me Thine.

Great blessings Thou didst give me,

O Source of gifts divine!

Thy lips have often fed me

With words of truth and love,

Thy Spirit oft hath led me

To heavenly joys above.

"O Sacred Head, Now Wounded" by Paul Gerhardt, 1607-1676

1. O sacred Head, now wounded,

With grief and shame weighed down,

Now scornfully surroundedWith thorns,

Thine only crown.

O sacred Head, what glory,

What bliss, till now was Thine!

Yet, though despised and gory,

I joy to call Thee mine.

2. Men mock and taunt and jeer Thee,

Thou noble countenance,

Though mighty worlds shall fear

TheeAnd flee before Thy glance.

How art thou pale with anguish,

With sore abuse and scorn!How doth

Thy visage languish

That once was bright as morn!

3. Now from Thy cheeks has vanished

Their color, once so fair;

From Thy red lips is banished

The splendor that was there.

Grim Death, with cruel rigor,

Hath robbed Thee of Thy life;

Thus Thou has lost Thy vigor,

Thy strength, in this sad strife.

4. My burden in Thy Passion,

Lord, Thou hast borne for me,

For it was my transgression

Which brought this woe on thee.

I cast me down before Thee,

Wrath were my rightful lot;

Have mercy, I implore Thee;

Redeemer, spurn me not!

5. My Shepherd, now receive me;

My Guardian, own me Thine.

Great blessings Thou didst give me,

O Source of gifts divine!

Thy lips have often fed me

With words of truth and love,

Thy Spirit oft hath led me

To heavenly joys above.

6. Here I will stand beside Thee,

From Thee I will not part;

O Savior, do not chide me!

When breaks Thy loving heart,

When soul and body languish

In death's cold, cruel grasp,

Then, in Thy deepest anguish,

Thee in mine arms I'll clasp.

7. The joy can ne'er be spoken,

Above all joys beside,

When in Thy body broken

I thus with safety hide.

O Lord of life, desiring

Thy glory now to see,

Beside Thy cross expiring,

I'd breathe my soul to Thee.

8. What language shall I borrow

To thank Thee, dearest Friend,

For this, Thy dying sorrow,

Thy pity without end?

Oh, make me thine forever!

And should I fainting be,

Lord, let me never, never,

Outlive my love for Thee.

9. My Savior, be Thou near me

When death is at my door;

Then let Thy presence cheer me,

Forsake me nevermore!

When soul and body languish,

Oh, leave me not alone,

But take away mine anguish

By virtue of Thine own!

10. Be Thou my Consolation,

My Shield when I must die;

Remind me of Thy Passion

When my last hour draws nigh.

Mine eyes shall then behold Thee,

Upon Thy cross shall dwell,

My heart by faith enfold Thee.

Who dieth thus dies well!

The University of Utah’s football team played Brigham Young University today in the game that is definitely the biggest of the season. It was fun; never before have I sat around and watched football while eating pizza and drinking (root) beer. I felt completely decadent.

I loved it.

It was so much fun to get riled up every time a play was executed well, and jumping up and down and yelling every time the U made a touch down. I loved stuffing myself with pizza and closing my eyes in agony when the Y intercepted the ball perfectly in the end of the second quarter. It was wonderful.

It was kind of like when I discovered I love baby back ribs in Cincinnati and ate an entire rack in 20 minutes. I like watching football.

I am such a man.

 

 

New development here:

I like Rob Zombie.

Huh.

 

Today I truly realized the fixation the Greeks had on the male body. I went Rock climbing today, and at rockreation they were holding a bouldering comp. I watched as varied men and women climbed totally impossible courses with various degrees of success.

My eyes fell upon one man as he climbed up the wall, his face torn into determination, holding his body up on a ceiling with three fingers and a leg. His shirtless back fascinated me; the toned muscles created a flawless collection of different planes that flexed and trembled, flowing seamlessly into powerful arms that clutched the wall in front of him. I’ve never seen such strength. His dark hair gleamed with sweat as he hung in suspension until he thrust himself up, swinging upward and grabbing the final marker.

I felt my eyebrows disappear into my bangs and my mouth fall open.

Wow.

 

Sometimes I just sit down, put on some music, and tell myself that I’m going to write something splendid. Something brilliant.

Not something that’s necessarily serious or deep, simply brilliant.

I think that that is the only time when any glamour is shed upon the institution of forming words and creating what you will, the only time when a cocky smile is truly merited. It’s fun to watch the words flow from your mind, tumbling down carelessly and allowing you to arrange them and following with exactness.

The majority of my week has been spent in confusion and defeated exhaustion. Ever since I’ve decided that I really don’t think I wish to pursue arch I’ve been completely burdened to see that I have no idea what I want to do. But then, in the midst of one of my glorious highs, that beautiful rush of exhilaration and brilliance and victory, I feel as if I can do anything. Restraint flees; I imagine the most inconceivable outcomes for my being, and I relish them and allow myself to entertain the ridiculous visages. I muddle about with the ideals and imprudence, and then I muddle about some more with a smile on my face.

I can take on the world. I can face an army that stretches on the horizon and envelopes me, swallowing me whole. I force it to step back so that I can charge. And charge I will. I feel like Obelix, endearing and physically invincible, the bulk of his strength stocked in his underdevelopment and his prolonged adolescence, his inability to understand. I don’t wish to understand right now, though. I really don’t care to overanalyze what surrounds me. In the end it’s not all that complex.

High as a kite, free as a bird.

For now, at least.

Today I went to special needs mutual (HA! I am a good person! Who knew?) Well, scratch all of that good person mumbo jumbo, because I wasn’t as reverent as I could have been. But I’m sorry, I don’t know how any person in that room keeps quiet, considering the things that are said. And yet they all do; every individual except for Amy Jo and I keeps perfectly still when such questions arise:

“How do you baptize someone with no legs?”

“Why didn’t Christ’s Daddy ever teach him how to shave?”

“My friend, Dorkus (no joke. I was shaking with silent laughter for ages) is from Africa, and says that my cat can’t go to heaven, but what if I throw my cat to heaven? Will heavenly father throw him back?

I couldn’t help it. To mask the fact that I’m an immature twit I wrapped my scarf several times around my head, in attempt to hide my grinning face. For some reason I don’t think my clever antics helped to deter this obscene lie that I am an immature twit. It’s a lie, though, I tell you. Don’t listen to these rumors that I’m a jovial Muslim who prefers plaid turbans. It’s simply not true.

So, anyways. The following tidbits rock my world:

• The band Jet: I heard “Are you going to be my girl” ages and ages ago, but never figured out the name of the band. It popped up yesterday by chance, and since then I’ve been absolutely smitten by the rock band. “Radio Song” Is beautiful.
  
• The Phantom of the Opera Movie: My excitement is split in two, and one half of it is in all actuality anxiety. To stick something as classic and dear to my heart as Phantom on the big screen is a bold, risky move, but I’ll see it all the same, because the trailer looks freaking awesome. I will also ignore the fact that the director is the same man who captained that despicable, nauseating BLASPHEMOUS FILTH that was Batman and Robin. Any true Batman fan vomited after seeing the lewdness of Arnold Schwarzenegger failing in his unwholesome attempt to portray the multifaceted, brilliant character Mr. Freeze and erased the nightmare from conscious memory completely. I have to represent. (Batman TAS all the way, yo)
  
• Thanksgiving: All U students have Thursday and Friday off, but since my Intro to Arch Professor is a slacker (just like me!) there is no class for me on Wednesday either. Huzzah, huzzah indeed.
  
• Diesel Sneakers- because I now own a pair of adorable red and white ones.
  

Alrighty. This entry will probably become one of the largest compilation of run on sentences known to the wide world of the Itraweb. Maybe that’s what I’ll finally get into Guinness for. Awesome.

I’m done. The emotions I feel are extreme, but the passions I harbor are not. I don’t feel enough satisfaction from these designs to merit such hard work, such sacrifice that will be required down the road. I’ve come to abhor the studio and everyone it in. I’ve come to despise what I create.

It’s not sad; I’m not going to turn my decision to change my major into a whirl of sappy, morose sentiment. I’m simply not happy or proficient at what I’m attempting to do, so I’m going to change whatever it is I’m doing.

That’s all. It’s rather exciting, really. Everyone must face pragmatism some day. Sometimes visions must wait.

Mum and I walked into the store. This place never sleeps; rather, it fills itself with all types of tired people, drifting from one product to another. Today we were additions to that fatigued torrent that trickles in and out of the maze of isles, searching for whatever we’re looking for. We were both very tired, not wanting to be here, but compelled by the idea of our family devoid of our primary fodder: cereal.

“Now remember,” mum wheezed through her cold-ridden throat, “I’ve consumed a lot of medication.”

Today as we walked down the cereal isle, I backtracked to pick up some cheerios. I noticed mum was dead ahead of me, pushing the cart in front of her. And all I can say is: I had a moment. I had a 'Rachael' moment. I felt the uncontrollable urge to attempt to lob the bag of generic cheerios over her head in an effort of ultimately landing the cereal securely in the shopping cart. I didn’t hesitate; I imagined the bag flying majestically through the air and mum’s surprise as the unidentified object plummeted into the cart she pushed in front of her. The vision was beautiful.

I hurled the bag up, carefully aiming and judging the force of the bag with my tongue sticking out of my mouth. It soared through the air, twirling around a couple of times before landing squarely on my mother’s head. I’ll never forget the way it slowly slid off her head, down her face and onto the linoleum floor. As the bag made its way down to the floor, it fell and uncovered her face.

That expression was priceless, absolutely classic, yet I didn’t react to it; I was still in a somewhat peculiar confusion as to the absurdity that had just occurred. She stood there, her arms limp at her side, with every muscle in her face relaxed but those controlling the eyebrows, which were pulled down into this droopy “It makes so much sense yet I still can’t believe it” look.

I stared back, still confused, in an expressionless face that seemed to say “you heard me”.

She watched me intensely for half a second longer, before rolling her eyes and returning to the cart without a word.

It wasn’t long after this that I doubled into fits of laughter. For those moments though, those limited moments, I honestly didn’t know what to think. I just stood there, wondering exactly why I refuse to function as a relatively normal human being. I had just chucked a bag of cereal through the air for no apparent reason at all. I didn’t know why. After I realized just how ridiculous it all was I was laughing like mad, bursting into a grin sporadically every now and then (I actually think I offended quite a few people because of this; I would just look at someone and start laughing) It made the shopping trip extraordinarily enjoyable.

Mum didn’t mention the incident, we just went along, wearily laughing at each other and the world as we plowed ahead, leaning on the cart. I think she was happy to see that I would do such a thing. My lows are low, they are. But in the end, the self portrait I paint is one that portrays certain things quite clearly: On the whole, I enjoy life.

Never before has an outfit gone so badly. Today I decided to go nice yuppie, but had, er, a few problems putting it together. I wore a nice knit black turtleneck with my wool duster, my hair in a semi-messy upbraid that went perfectly with the feel of the look and my tweed bag. I slung my new (and freaking expensive) cream colored scarf from white house, black market around my neck. But then the two crucial questions popped up: what skirt and which shoes?

Oh, how the shoes make or break the outfit! I was originally planning to wear the Jane Eyre flats (Mum and I call these shoes the Jane Eyre’s because of the simplicity in color [black] and design. Think these with a more square-ish toe minus the bow) But alas, I stepped out my bedroom door to see they already donned the feet of my mother! With 3 minutes until I had to be out the door, I had to think quickly and effectively. I decided to wear one of my many black skirts, and shoes like these . The skirt was a mistake. It’s the concept of the poodle skirt in the materials of the feminized menswear trend, and it’s cute if worn right. But today it was not, and it was terrible.

As I walked, I found that the duster + revamped poodle skirt combination caused the skirt to ride up to mid thigh, where it poofed out and billowed about my cold legs, looking like a trashy mini from hot topic. The shoes, which are dressy by nature but can be dressed down with the right things, made it look as if I were trying to be dressy with a trashy mini from hot topic. The shoes are cheap payless, but really look classy most of the time, especially with flawlessly done yuppie. This attire, however, really brought out the ‘cheap’ in the shoes.

To add to this, in all the flutter of trying to get to physics lecture on time I forgot to tie the duster. As I walked to class the belt flapped about my legs, sometimes getting stuck between my legs in the wispy swirl of the skirt. I didn’t have time to drop my belongings and adjust myself, however badly I needed it, so for some reason I decided to tie the belt, which is attached to the back of the duster, to my purse. The extra long scarf was looped around my neck several times and then tied onto the purse as well, so as to prevent further disturbance to myself. As I opened the door to the physics building, I saw in the fated reflection of the glass how ridiculous I looked. Imagine an individual in an interesting wispy mini skirt poking out of a wool duster in children’s ivory heels. It seems as if she is completely set on not losing her purse, seeing as every loose piece of cloth that wraps around her is tethered onto the brown tweed purse that holds no logical place in the misunderstood-teenager-getup.

I can laugh about it now, but trying to get around campus was embarrassing, humiliating, and extremely difficult to do without flashing every student that walked by. It was absolutely wretched.

So I have learned, once again, the virtues of waking up on time.

I was disappointed with Galliano’s latest show; Dior 2005 Spring-Summer was dull, just an overview of past successful looks of his. But I must say, He’s still brilliant, and pieces such as this one prove that Dior will always be a power house in fashion. (Christian Dior Haute Couture white satin crinoline dress with cherry-blossom amethyst-and-gold embroidered bodice.)

 

How delighted I am! In 12 days we’ll be putting up the tree, devoting ourselves to the laborious activity that usually takes anywhere from 3-5 hours. I absolutely love this tradition; I adore waking from my thanksgiving nap to mum prying open the box to our faithful artificial tree. We got a new one this year, a 7 and a half foot pre-lit tree that will stand majestically in our sitting room in less than two weeks. Everything is so precise; such attention is paid to establishing the perfect balance. We stand back, searching, looking for the perfect place to put that one ornament. Weeks after it is up we continue to perfect it, moving a golden ball here or there when we walk by only to have the other saunter on by and put it back. A gold silk runner will sit atop a rich maroon silk on the coffee table, upon which will be placed the exquisite Italian-crafted nativity I’ve been in charge of setting up for years. Ricky and I will combine our forces to tackle the porcelain village, which takes brilliance and practicality. Ricky is appointed head of electrical, while I stack videos underneath a white cloth and position the small houses and shops, the school and the white church.

Mum has given me grief; I’ve been mad and angry and hurt by the way she chooses to fill her roll as a parent at times. But she has always made this season so significant for me, I never flood with excitement for anything else, really. Our family is rich with tradition when November rolls around, and I enjoy life much more that usual. It’s fun to decorate the house and cook cookies and sing carols, but what a wonderful thing to celebrate! How honored I am to recognize the birth of my Lord!

I listen to the voices. Anger, in shaking bitterness, is finally attacking the negligence, the sickness.

I feel completely nauseated. Not only by what people will do, but by what people will accept. Sometimes one can’t forgive; sometimes it’s completely necessary to remember.

With the lights out
it’s less dangerous
Here we are now
Entertain us
I feel stupid and contagious
Here we are now
Entertain us
A mulatto
An albino
A mosquito
My libido
Yea

I reach for the speakers. The sounds of the band nirvana drown me, deafen me. Exactly what I want: the inability to hear, the inability to understand. I don’t want to analyze this situation. I want nothing but the firm promise I make to rid my consciousness of anything about this. I can’t help but ponder why. Why on earth? I question the strength I’ve always perceived. Then why, why would one make such ridiculously weak, pardoning decisions? I listen to the music:

And I forget
Just what it takes
And yet I guess it makes me smile
I found it hard
Its hard to find
Oh well, whatever, never mind

I smirk briefly when I think of the lyrics to the song. How grossly inappropriate.

Today, as I stood waiting for the bus, a man on a bullet bike flew past me. His bike glistened in the falling sun, the annoyingly powerful muffler pounded through the air louder than the bat’s snore (hats off to the muffler, I know). I admired his bike for a second before I realized the bloke didn’t bother to wear a helmet.

Life expectancy: approximately 2 minutes, 39 seconds

I thought this odd, until 5 minutes later yet another helmetless bullet biker soared past.

Ah, Darwin in action…

In a couple of weeks mum and I are going to go to New York to look up some agencies. This is what I've collected so far, listing from most preferred to least (marilyn is last because the woman on the phone sounded a bit snippy, and to be honest, I was somewhat offended) Anyways...

AGENCIES


1. IMG Models
304 Park Avenue SouthPenthouse
North 12th FloorNew York, NY 10010
Phone: (212) 253-8884Fax: (212) 253-8883
OPEN CALL: Thursday 10:30-11:00

2. DNA
520 Broadway 11th Floor.
New York, NY, 10012
(212) 226 0080
newfaces@dnamodels.com
NO OPEN CALL

3. Elite
111 East 22nd Street New York, NY
Phone: 212-529-9700
OPEN CALL: Monday: 3:00 -4:00

4. Next
newyork@nextmodels.com
15 Watts StreetNew York, NY 10013Phone: 212-925-5100
OPEN CALL: Wed 10:30-11:00

5. NEW YORK MODEL MANAGEMENT
596 Broadway
#701 New York, NY 10010
212.539.1700
OPEN CALL: Tues & Thurs 10:30-11:30

6. MARILYN
300 Park Avenue South,
NY, NY 10010
info@maryily-ny.com
212.260.6500
NO OPEN CALL

FALLBACK AGENCIES

I Model management
info@1modelmanagement.com
424 West Broadway
New York, NY 10012
attention new faces
NO OPEN CALL

Ford
142 Greene St, 4th FloorNew York, NYPhone: 212-219-6500
NO OPEN CALL

WOMEN
199 Lafayette St. 7th Floor
New York, NY 10012
(212) 334 7480
?

Guileless Litany

My fine little darling,
staring, gazing, hoping
looking so charming.
Dancing in the night
sparkling like a diamond
so here’s to you darling,
here’s to you darling,
here’s to you darling.

I hope you find somebody other than you,
other than you,
other than you,
I hope you find somebody other than you,
other than yourself
to adore.

My vain little darling,
Buzzing, hording, crowding
around you, they are swarming
look into the mirror
Just absolutely stunning
so here’s to you darling,
here’s to you darling,
here’s to you darling.

I hope you find somebody other than you,
other than you,
other than you,
I hope you find somebody other than you,
other than yourself
to abhor.

My brash little darling,
flying, fleeing, fleeting,
come now; I gave warning,
especially when you cry
your beauty is alarming,
so here’s to you darling,
here’s to you darling,
here’s to you darling.

“Fog, I’m sorry, but we’ve burnt all the coal.” The Captain stated grimly to the man. “But,” He declared as he looked down despondently, “The crew and I have agreed that we are willing to…

Burn our shoes.”

Fog looked the captain in the eyes. “I have 6 hours to get to London. Even shoes won’t help me now.”

He looked around at the crew in defeat, then up at the sky, as if finally beaten, ready to accept what was to follow. When he saw the seagulls, however, a thought sprung to his head. Of course, the inventor thought, the flying machine…

“The birds…” He said in discovery.

“Excellent idea, Fog.” Said the captain triumphantly. “We’ll burn the birds!”


Scenario taken from "Around the World in 80 Days."

"Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you walk into an open sewer and die."

Mel Brooks
US actor, comedian, & movie director (1926 - )


Yesterday, as I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling above me, a thought came to me:

“You’ve got some sense of humor there, God. Really, you do.”

I walked down the hallway to hear mum addressing the bat on a certain issue. I overheard:

“I want my home to be a good home, and I don’t want any lethargy or complacency disrupting the function of my home…”

“I realize that,” The bat droned back. “I’ll volunteer in a little while at a school, perhaps.”

“Well, you need to because I can’t have you sitting at home all day in front of the TV if you’re going to continue living with us.”

“Can I at least get rested from my trip?” (The bat returned yesterday afternoon from a semi-lengthy trip to Texas to help my aunt, who’s going through a bad time. Apparently She over dosed on all her poppers before she went, in the mindset that the doctors in the lone star state that she had set up previously would give her more. They wouldn’t, so the majority of the time she was tripping through crazy withdrawal, creating more of a burden for my aunt than any help. Apparently she folded dirty laundry twice.)

“Alright, mom, take a day to get rested up from your trip.”

“I’d like a week and a half.”

Well, my agent called today.

Apparently she’s been trying to get a hold of me for weeks (someone forgot to give them her new number when she moved, but it definitely wasn’t me)

Apparently Ford modeling agency is scouting me tomorrow at 11:10

I have a physics exam in a week and one day, but I refuse to study right now, even though I have plenty of free time. Today in studio we turned in a project (which I think turned out spectacularly, I hope Larry bear and teacher are good to me), so I was only in class for 20 minutes. I came home, did my makeup so that I look completely hot, and now I’m writing. I could have done a lot of much needed physics studying, but I’m a bad person, so I didn’t.

I love this season. The brisk chill of the wind is bitter but mysteriously warming. Waiting for the month of November to end is always the hardest part; I want to put up the Christmas tree and the decorations and watch the snow fall from a toasty house. I want to play Christmas music and drink hot chocolate. Excitement fills my throat and my body and makes my beam every time I think of it. November is so difficult, it’s such a tease to watch the valley be bleached out by soft snow and the store windows covered in everything Christmas just to know that It’s so far away. Oh, the excitement!

I’ve also decided to take on a new endeavor this season; a rather obvious one that I think will be incredibly fun. I’ve decided what I want and I’ve decided that I’m going to get it.

*grins mischievously *

Well, I think I’m off to maybe study some physics.

Maybe.

As I turn last weekend’s events over and over in my head, one famous phrase keeps coming to my head:

“I’ll get you, my pretty...”

Our computer has died. Just died. We do have two fully functioning computers, but Rob's alienware has a virus that prevents it from being useful. Daddy sent me a copy of Knoppix, which is the coolest thing in the world. Linux rocks my world.

While viewing the comp's files from knoppix, I stumbled upon some ancient documents Carter wrote at my house a couple months ago. Really, I'm embarrassed; the writing is sloppy, broken, overly passionate and maudlin, and overall juvanile. What can I say? The writing is just like the author in so many ways.

On Saturday I met this adorable guy named Rob. He's adorable, polite, charming, incredibly hot, and an extremely good kisser. I must say that I'm quite flustered by it all; I like him so. When I juxtapose him with Carter I laugh, to be completely honest. He has this jet black hair, and this smile that just melts me into this amorous little puddle of adoration. He's cute in many ways, and I like him quite a bit. I suppose that's why this entire affair is so absolutely tortuous.
Oh my. I suppose a life deficient of romantic entanglements would be an easier one, but I'm afraid I'll never learn...

I suppose I should explain why I can’t help but refer to Larry as Larry bear in my head. I knew a Larry back in Cinci, he was an adorable friend who happened to look like a bear, and the endearing term was born. 5 years later I’m in college, and the TA is a Larry who looks exactly like a bear. He has a short haircut, has that teddy bear kind of build, and just looks like a bear. In a good way, I suppose. I kid you not, it’s somewhat uncanny. But there you have it, Larry bear.

CHRISTMAS IS COMING! HUZZAH!!!! I’m ever so excited. It snowed today, and although I was forced into misery by the inclement weather, the fluttering frost reminded me of what was to come as it drifted down onto my head, soaking me. I’m exited for the Christmas songs and the decorations, and most of all the tree. We ordered a new 7.5 foot artificial pre-lit tree off eBay, and the delay of its arrival drives me mad. True, we won’t set it up until Thanksgiving night, but I’m still so thrilled. The magical season approaches and brings a smile to myself and makes me giddy.

All in all I had a great day today. I managed my time wisely and accomplished a lot. I didn’t finish all my studio work but made great head way. I hope tomorrow’s crit treats me well!

Talked to Maile today at Church.

Apparently the Aussie is an incredible kisser.

Yesterday I went to a Haunted house with Maile & Co. and the Aussie. It was hilarious; I’m absolutely terrified the whole way through and at points I’m in tears. It’s awesome.

It’s curious; every time I go to this haunted house something odd but comical happens to me. Last year, as I was being chased by zombies, rotting faces and all, I slipped and whacked one in the crotch with my heavy purse. He doubled over, laughing, and told me to be considerate of the poor zombies. This year, about 3 minutes into the haunted house, an actor dressed as jack the ripper jumped out of a compartment and I promptly fell through the wall behind me. As the crew was putting the set back together, I laughed and rub my throbbing thigh, pondering exactly how I would ever make it through the set without incident. I ran into many people, jumped into the arms of bemused strangers, and trampled many a foot in my attempt to flee the monsters.

We went to Rocky Point, by far the best in the state (hence the reason the institution won ‘best in state’ award), and the haunted house was extremely well put together. It was freaky and loads of fun. I also went with a hot Australian boy, which would have been a lot more fun if Maile hadn’t been literally throwing herself at him the entire time (literally, read: lunging at him and diving under his shirt every time she was startled.) He’s leaving in a week, she has a boyfriend, why can’t she ever be content with just being friends with a guy? I’m fine with the fact that she enjoys the company of many, many men, but at times I’m embarrassed for her and myself because of her bluntly brazen antics. I acknowledge that he’s hot, has an adorable accent, and is fun to be around, but he is leaving soon. A purely platonic relationship would probably carry on longer and be more beneficial to the times he comes back to Salt Lake. That is why I decided not to make a move, but he does have two legs and is a male, therefore Maile decided that hitting on him ceaselessly whenever in his presence was the best method for her. She made it a tad bit awkward as we moved through the haunted house, simply because it was odd to walk through with them due to the fact that Maile was mauling him the whole way. So I spent most of the time with Lehua and Xan, which was cool, but vexing that I couldn't be with the friends I know the best.

Afterwards we all hung out, even though Maile was still trying to harass him (or whatever the obnoxious ritual she calls flirting really is). We had a pillow fight, he and I talked, and we just had fun. (Apparently I’m quite a laugh, and he’ll have to give me a bell. Translation: I’m funny and he’ll have to call me sometime this week)

I had a lot of fun last night, but only after I came home did I realize that I had missed the deadline for my Saturday Physics homework, which was maddening. To the depths of the sea with schoolwork! I want to go get a costume, paint my face, and participate in Halloween activities for the rest of the week.

Bah!

So… The fugees reunited on stage a month ago and rumors are flying about another album.

*blink*

That would be so bleeding awesome.

Faint light of dawn
I’m listening to you breathing in and breathing out
needing nothing
You are honey dipped
You are beautiful, floating clouds, soft world,
I can’t feel my lips

I’m going down, I don’t want to change
I’m going down, going down this drain

Don’t bring me down, I beg you,
Don’t bring me down, I won’t let you

(Sia Furler, Don’t Bring me Down)

Yesterday before I went to baby-sit for Jen I went shopping and picked up some liquid black eye liner along with a curling iron. The eye liner is somewhat extreme, but I gave my self 10 minutes to apply it right before mum came home and it looked magnificent.

I perfected my makeup just as mum came through the door and announced that she felt like something fun.

We decided to go see “the notebook.”

It’s a rare occasion for mum and me to go out to a show in general, and on a weekday it’s absurd to think about it. But after both of us looked back at our days we indulged ourselves and went to the movie.

“Oh, it’s splendid!” Mum exclaimed as we neared the theater. “I never see movies twice (isn’t that the truth) but this one is wonderful. It’s the chickest flick on the market.”

Awesome. A good chick flick is really nice every now and then. But, I reminded myself as I looked at my flawlessly dolled up face in the mirror, I mustn’t cry and wash down the masterpiece my face had become.

Well, almost. I was rather close. I made it through the movie up until the part where Noah and Allie get up and dance to “I’ll Be Seeing You” In the nursing home. I started sobbing hysterically, spilling my chewy sweet tarts all over the people in front of me.

“S-s-s-ooor-ry!” I choked out.

The couple turned around. The girl, whose face was covered in tears and mascara, totally understood. The man looked around him as if he’d missed a bombing or some other life-claiming national tragedy of the sort.

My makeup, surprisingly, held up pretty well (sort of). After the movie mum and I went to grab some new lipgloss at shopko, and there I stumbled upon the black eye liner I had bought the day before.

I thought of Noah. I thought of Allie and Noah dancing and fighting and kissing, and being separated for 14 years. I thought of the scene in “Hanging Up” where the parents are dancing to their song, I thought of Noah reading to Allie, I thought of the scene in “Patch Adams” where the wrinkled woman dives into the pool of spaghetti. I thought of the man I want to marry and the slim chances I feel I will ever find someone like that. I thought of the drenched black mess my face probably was at that instant.

I started to sob in the middle of the isle, collapsing on mum and crying.

Ah, c'est la vie!

ME: “Hello?”
AMY: “Hey! What are you doing?”
ME: “An obscene amount of nothing. You?”
AMY: “Me and the girls are going mormon streaking. Wanna come?”

*silence*

*more silence*
ME: “In the name of heaven and all that is holy, what is that?”
AMY: “Streaking, you know, except you’re, like, not completely commando.”
ME: “Thanks for the invite, but I think I’ll kip out of this one, if you don’t mind.”
AMY: “No, that’s fine, I’ll call you tomorrow. See ya.”
ME: “Bye babe.”

Just a few clarifications for my dearest readers:

• The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints does not condone immodesty or nudity in any form. I realize everything’s relative, but we’re pretty strict here, so I think it’s safe to say that we, as a people, are moderate in dress. I also realize that some Mormons go streaking, (see above) but this is a personal choice propelled by boredom.
• 
  This so called “mormon streaking” is rather silly. Isn’t the whole point of streaking being in the nude? This isn’t streaking, but rather a fatigued imitator of the (in my mind pointless and immature) institution of streaking. So doesn’t wearing underwear defeat the purpose?
• 
  I would also like to encourage those of you who live in the salt lake country to restrict your activities tonight to the indoors, preferably the basement, where view of the outside is limited.
• 
  I would also like to inform you that I have a sore throat- kind of. The left side of my throat is raw and throbbing while the other side is just fine. I am confused.
• 
  Today I got bored and snipped away at my hair a bit. Tomorrow I plan to see a stylist to repair the damage done to my head.
  
  That is all.

Worked on my final until 3:30 yesterday night, or should I say this morning.

Bah.

I’m feeling such a plethora of doubts and questions and misgivings as of late; they beat upon me and to tell the truth, I’m rather frightened. The things that I want to do and the places I wish to go demand individuals from the top, and I’m afraid my incapability will keep me from the top, and therefore prevent me from the things I want to do.

It’s not confusing, in fact it’s quite simple; physics is trying to eat me. The sciences want me dead and disappointed, who am I to defy them? I work and I work and it doesn’t come to me. Bah.

Process design, however, is going well; I actually got a good critique. Yesterday as I was working, or pretending to work while talking with the ever adorable Nick, he asked me what I planned to do.

“I intend to force an epiphany.” I said matter-of-factly.

And force an epiphany I did.

I sat down to work, decided to do something different, and summoned up something beautiful that worked in many ways. But I shan’t jinx it; I refuse to speak anymore about it. So be gone, you evil-bringing viewers! Away!

Mum, Jeff, the bat and I went shopping yesterday in park city. The outlets there are simply amazing; anything can be found for a fraction of the original price. One thing mum found was a book called “The Literary Book of Answers”, in which phrases or parts of sentences from famous literature are placed on each page to create a magic 8 ball concept. You ask a question, open the book to a random page and read. When we first bought it the bat insisted on asking the first question:

“How far is it from here to the southern border of Vietnam?”

Puzzled expressions graced our faces. Even for the bat, the question was completely random and odd. Mum flipped open to a page that read:

“ABSOLUTELY”
-Anton Chekhov: “Uncle Vanya”

So most of the time it doesn’t make sense, it’s just fun to do. Today mum and I played the game.

Mum: Is Rachael’s future husband in her life right now?

I flipped open to:

“YES”
-Hans Christian Andersen: “In a Thousand Years”

It was surprisingly logical and straight forward. Huh.

Mum: “Who is he?”

The next random page read:

“TRY TO BE HAPPY WITHOUT IT”
Charles Perrault: Complete Fairy Tales
“Beauty and the Beast”

Yesterday I informed mum that for Christmas I would like an ipod and exceptionally loud headphones so that I would never have to listen to my family ever again.

For some reason she declined.

 

I love high fashion... 

Yesterday, in the event of a party I was planning to attend with Maile, I actually put on makeup and did my hair (did my hair= brush thoroughly). After waiting for Maile I discovered that she had been caught in her attempt to sneak out and therefore I had no place to go in my new found sexiness.

So I crashed on my couch with my makeup still on.

This afternoon, as I was walking to the studio, I was happy to see that my makeup was still intact and that I looked extremely pretty, and was dressed well in heels and a matching J Jill sweater that hung loosely on my frame, making me look wonderfully thinner than usual. Very Ralph Lauren Ready to Wear Spring 2005.

The walk from the bus stop to the studio is a nice one. I love stalking down a sidewalk in heels, swaying just so, tossing my hair back occasionally. I smile to my self as I see a beautiful man exit the pioneer memorial theatre. The beautiful man turns his head and slides into eye contact with me.

I smile flirtatiously before proceeding to trip and face plant into the sidewalk.

It was a very curious fall, ambiguous in the sense that the cause of it was and is still hidden from me at this very moment; there was nothing in my way nor were the ivory Chinese Laundry pumps that I had found at market square for $11 the day before hard to walk in. I was simply walking one moment and flying in the air with a downward acceleration the next. Curious, to say the least.

“Are you alright?” The man exclaimed as he rushed up to me.

“It’s alright, you can laugh.” said I, observing his admirable constraint. “I’m just fine.”

“Be careful in those shoes” he said kindly, and with that he nodded and walked off, leaving me completely amused and humiliated.

Of course he blames the shoes; I suppose any untrained eye would. But upon close investigation of the footwear one can clearly see that they wouldn’t be the motive behind an unwanted descent of any kind. They have double straps, relatively low stiletto heels of moderate thickness, and an insanely pointy toe. They walk beautifully, easily. It wasn’t the shoes.

I myself blame the silly magazine I was holding at the time I plummeted, which threw off my equilibrium before getting in the way of my attempt to catch myself on the parking meter to my left. Clearly the magazine is responsible.

I continue my journey to the studio, a bit less confident than before. A smile kept on sporadically fluttering upon my lips as I thought of exactly what disturbed expression my face had been contorted into as I plunged to the cement below. Finally the grin pushed through my being and I started chuckling madly as I endeavored to walk. I accepted defeat and stopped walking to stand and laugh avidly. I decided it was best that I had stopped walking as another cute guy strolled past and grinned at the amused beauty giggling in the middle of the promenade; I don’t walk and examine men simultaneously too incredibly well.

I finally made it to the studio and began working. I made a breakthrough today on my project, and I think that the idea I summoned up there is going to work rather well. I was working hard and productively until yet another appealing male crossed my path to mess me up in one way or another.

“Hello.” He said. I smiled and gave a weak ‘hello’ in response.

“Are you in design workshop?” He inquired. He looked of semi-distant Asian descent, with jet-black hair, hazel eyes and beautiful white, straight teeth. I love dark hair.

“Uh, yeah, I have the other period. You have Professor Davis, right?” I stuttered. Bullocks, I can never be smooth when I’m caught of guard.

“Yeah. What are you guys working on?” He walked up to my desk to inspect my desk (or the contents therein, I’m still debating this).

“Folding paper, investigating positive negative space, figure ground, you know.”

“Sounds enjoyable.” He uttered.

“Do you want to tell me what you think of this study? This plane right here, it’s necessary but I’m afraid, um, it’s completely dead and inactivated. What, what do you think?” I asked.

He examined my study for a long time, walking around me, peering into it and around it, just looking at it.

“I hate the pause when someone looks at your work,” I laughed. “It’s painful.” He looked up and smiled.

“I like what you’ve done. I’m not sure what to say, though.”

“I know what you mean. I think the piece is active and intriguing, but from this one angle,” I paced over until I was facing the problematic side dead on, “It looks like nothing, just empty space.”

“Yeah, I see what you mean.” He said. He studied my work for 3 or 4 minutes longer until. We talked about his work and about class. 10 minutes later I began to start my second study of the day until I glanced at my sketch book. In it I had written my measurements, and I caught the phrase “Top to first incision: 1 and 27/32 inches”. I really didn’t want to work anymore. So I packed up and started to walk out of the room.

“You’re going home?”he asked.

“Yes- my work ethic is dismal if indeed existent.”

“Well, at least you came. See you later.”

I walked home, frustrated with myself. Luckily my journey was completely void of beautiful men, though I doubt I would have noticed, as I was lost in deliberation. The day was frustrating, frustrating indeed.

Well, I suppose men are in general.

you go, brother! 

Today I babysat for Jen, an absolutely wonderful gal from my old ward. Her kids are sweet and a breeze to babysit. They’re extremely easy to manage; my time there consists of playing outside a beautiful, expensive house in their pristine, manicured backyard and playing with the kids. Easy.

While I was there I opened the fridge for a bite or two and discovered some grapes. The box read “Four Star Fruits”. This intrigued me to no end. Naturally, 5 stars is the ideal star allowance that one would crave from produce. A 5 rating is supreme, the best, the absolute and almighty. 4 is good, satisfying, and certainly better than 3 stars but is simply not superlative. How odd to bestow one’s own product with a mere 4 stars.

I opened the box and tasted one.

Lo and behold, it was a four star grape. I was delighted with the sweet, refreshing taste, but elation did not flood my mouth and entire being. It was good, but not the best. Indeed, it was a four star grape.

Never before has a food product, be it produce or otherwise, been so honest with me. I was flattered. Hallowed be the name of this courageous farmer/corporation, let us shower him/her with laud for having the balls to deliver what is promised. I was so happy to know the quality of the fruit with exactness, to the very star.

Blessed, blessed farmer…

Yesterday was a very trying day for me. As I was salivating over my boots on ebay, mum came up to me with a very tempting offer.

“Help out with the paper route for a year and the boots are yours”, she says.

My jaw drops. I despise the paper route; it’s a rip off, it’s menial work and you get all dirty from the ink. It’s stupid.

But the boots! The boots! Look at the boots! They’re beautiful, absolutely gorgeous. They got the best of me.

“Deal.”

We didn’t win the auction, which I think was a good thing. I helped out with the paper route for today and remembered how I loathed it. But I am bootless.

Oh yes, and by the way, a question: does any random soul know what music is playing as Dior's women's fashion site loads? (dior. com, then click on 'women') It's really got an awesome beat so I was wondering if anybody knew the artist/title of song if it is indeed taken from a full song. I’ve been posting this on every fashion forum like mad, seeing as Dior’s RTW is coming up and will therefore change the site (and the wickedly awesome music) If you have an idea, please email me. Come now, what would Ganesh do?

Gucci is magnificent. I can have the most beautiful boots in the world for around $300 here. (ebay item 5326275666, in case the stupid link won't let you see them.)

I burn, I pine, I perish, Tranio, If I achieve not this young modest footwear! How magnificent they are! I can't rip my eyes off the image, I can't stop imagining the feel of the supple calfskin and the power of the walk in them. How beautiful! Should I save up for these? Dare I try? Oh the upheaval of my soul! The upheaval!!!

*sniffle* I want them. I love them. They're so pwetty!

And look how well they go with Knee length Skirts! Sigh... 

I have found the perfect boots. They are so beautiful, so classy, so $3200. Oh, I am in love.

As I looked outside at the blaring sun that beat down upon the sidewalk ferociously I decided I was grateful to be sitting in an air-conditioned bus, even though the driver was on crack. I had never been on a bumpier, jerkier bus ride in all my life; the stops were sudden and shaky, the acceleration even more so. Poor, poor crack head driver man.

Today I am elated. I have just been informed that the TA thought my fingerprint to be worthy of a better grade, and that three other graduate students saw my work and agreed along with Larry bear (TA).

“In my opinion, grading was the hardest thing. We would go around the room, and he would hand out Bs to work that I thought barely deserving of a D. And then we would come across prints that I thought were A’s, and he would give worse grades. I think you should have done better, you did good work.”

Oh, divine, sweet positive if mild moral support! Ever since being infuriated by the C+ I received on my fingerprint I had truly begun to doubt my capability, and wondering if I had the talent for what I yearn to do. I am very relieved to hear appreciation for what I spent 62 hours on.

Our current project involves folding paper, even though it is not (as Prof. Adams informs us again and again) origami. I’m enjoying it thoroughly; I will have to post a picture.

I step off the bus and hop onto the sidewalk. In 33 minutes I watch the second session of general conference, and then hopefully go shopping for boots. I shall also have to call Elisse again, because she has disappeared. I cross the busy street, wincing into the blinding sun. Soon, I think, soon this heat will flee and the softest white will cover this city.

I don’t know if I yearn for that or dread it.

Bah. I see no reason why Physics TAs should be so adorable. I decided to go to a different study session today, due to the overwhelming oblivion and confusion ever present as I endeavor to plow through the work. I fell in love with the TA. He’s quirky, hilarious, and absolutely brilliant. And oh yes, I shan’t forget that he’s gorgeous, either. I couldn’t stop staring into his bright blue eyes today, and I’m not even one that fancies blue eyes (brown all the way, my friends). He’s insanely skinny, but he pulls off the difficult gangly look magnificently, and I actually understand what he teaches! It’s novel!

Sigh.

Well, let’s move on to a subject more relevant to my life, shall we? Today I secured a babysitting job that I think is going to be a beautiful thing for me. Mondays, 1PM to 4PM at $12 an hour. The kids are wonderful, too, the only negative aspect about this is that it makes me want to have a baby. And that scares me.

And if he reads this I think my dad is probably flipping out too.

Come,
come to me,
come touch the earth.
Drop upon me and fight
in all that magnificent fury
of yours.
Tear this skin,
melt me like wax,
beckon the tears from my face
and the visions from my eyes.
I can’t stop you;
your glory is beautiful,
your edges and shades are a delight
to me.
So come caress this land,
Wash me down and purify,
Refine my rapture
And form a fitter matron.

 

My trip was fabulous and inspired a new mentality in my worldview which I hope to the highest heavens isn’t permanent.

I really don’t like school. It’s cliché and terribly typical, but I want to see all that I can and experience the cultures that are so starkly but beautifully different. I want to leave, not next semester, not when I’m 18, I want to leave now.

I won’t. Of course I won’t. Even my wildest dreams are incapable of banishing my logic. I’ll finish this semester, of course, I’ll wrap up this year. But I think I want to take a year off and just go. How idealistic this is! Why has prudence and rationality and practicality fled me?

What I need to do is this: acquire a large sum of money in a short span of time and utilize these funds in traveling.

Sounds easy enough.

Daddy and I. 

My precious father and me. 

My Grandfather Jens (Dada) and me. 

My Grandmother, Aina (known to me as Mimi) and me. 

"Rachael, are you ready?" The bat shakily drawled, as was her wont.

Poor gal. There appears to have occurred a particularly violent earthquake this morning while she was applying her eye liner. Or maybe she wasn't going for the 'eye liner' look, perhaps the 'big black spots blotted around eye' approach appealed to her far more.

It's always funny to see the bat decked out. She curls her hair into large duskish clouds that swirl up in such a way that upon first sight one in forced to think that a pitchy storm decided to perch itself upon her head. She then accentuates the inclement weather that whisks about above with red lipstick applied in large, jagged strokes that turns her wrinkled mouth into a pointy rouged star that was slapped on her face sometime earlier. It's a very dramatic affair; whenever I see her with makeup full on I do a little double take that's always a bit difficult to recover from.

“We need to go.” She whistled two minutes later. I looked down at my watch. The clocker read 2, the plane left at 4:35.

“Mormor, we at least have another half hour, don't you think?” I inquired.

“I might get lost.”

To the airport? You jump on the freeway and follow the signs. How could you get lost?

I looked down at the stumpy woman who at that moment in time was busily running into her bedroom door in an attempt to infiltrate the lair.

“Yeah, you're right. We'd better go soon.”

Okay. This week is finished. Finally.

I believe I did OK on my fingerprint, and I also believe that I was thrashed and thrashed hard by the physics exam. As I left the room I couldn’t help but laugh, I had done so badly.

Mediocrity is depressing. An insanely extreme degree of failure, however, is just comical.

No, I didn’t do that wretchedly, although I probably scored 60ish. I probably did average, but it sucked all the same simply because I studied so hard. In the last 2 days I’ve gotten 9 hours of sleep, which is absurdly low for a slumber devotee such as my self. But, alas, I now fly to Cincinnati, and for four days I will be released from the seemingly unremitting clutches of school work. Huzzah. Huzzah indeed.

I am happy to be expanding in the different ways that I am, I rejoice in growth; it truly is a pursuit of mine. But it’s hard. It’s so hard and these last couple of days opened my eyes to a glimpse of pushing oneself and the necessity of doing so.

So Argh. I shall do it and find a way to enjoy it to the fullest. In the meantime I shall eat kix and contemplate packing before attacking my couch in a cataleptic onslaught to which I will shortly succumb.

I bid you adieu.

I busy. I’m busy studying, I’m busy painting, I’m busy commuting between the two.

I’m afraid I can’t write, but Friday morning at 9:35 I’ll be done with this week, done with my fingerprint, done with my first Physics final. I might have time for a quick word, and If I do I'll post. Farewell until then, my darlings.

I spent the last 2 hours curled up into a ball leaning my head on mum. It’s so extremely interesting; when one is ill, there is no better medication then a caring mom. When she came home I hurriedly scampered to her and began to whine. She made me soup, and then put in my ear drops in my evil, tortuous ear while I laid in her warm, big bed. Just mum’s presence is enough to comfort me when I am needy, which happens to be a large portion of the time I’m conscious.

Oh, mum’s a doll.

I’ve run out of paint again, so I’m going to just do one print tonight, and simply gnaw on professor Adams arm when he casts his bug eyes on me through his translucent Gucci glasses and tells me I need to work harder. I need to really buckle down, I realize; the final’s due on Thursday. But Alas! I am tired and annoyed by a rebellious ear. So if you tell me to work harder I’ll bite your arm off.

I’m going to go play Simpsons road rage (best game ever) with Ricky and then go get the fingerprint of pain.

At 1:30 this morning I was woken by a sharp pain in my right ear, which prevented me from sleeping for the rest of the night.

The pain worsened during class today, which made physics even less bearable.

The doctor tells me I have Otitis Media.

Stupid ear.

The beautiful voice of a mezzo soprano washes over me, singing softly and sweetly Mozart’s Ave Maria as it filters through the speakers in front of me. This piece especially is so incredibly beautiful and soft, the singer is absolutely amazing. What miraculous notes enfold me at this moment! She sings with an edgy emotion that creates an eroded tension soothed by the fluid notes she sings.

I had a wonderful day today, it was wonderful to be with my family after mum and I forgot the disturbance of this morning. We had the missionaries over for dinner and had a wonderful evening.

I’m going to Cincinnati on Thursday (maybe Friday afternoon, depending solely upon whether my physics professor will let me take his exam a day early) to see my father’s parents, Mimi and Dada. I’m very excited.

Sleep well, dears. May you fly to the clouds and sweep gently into your reveries tonight.

Professor Rudolph-

I am a student in your Physics 2010 class, and I attend your lectures on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 7:30 AM. I simply wished to write you regarding your examination policy. This last weekend presented a family emergency to me, and I must fly to Cincinnati as soon as the week is over. It would be greatly appreciated if I could take the exam on Thursday, September 23, as opposed to Friday morning on the 24. I realize we are given a 'freebie' exam, but I was wondering if there was any way I could be granted an opportunity to take the exam a day early so as to improve my chances of getting a better grade in the class. If this is not possible, I understand completely the importance of policy but simply thought I would run it past you in order to be aware of my options in full.

Sincerely,
ivory

(Naturally I put real name, #, email, etc.)

What do you think? Will it work? Cross your fingers for me!

Mum and I are in a bit of a tiff (again). Last year I clearly expressed that I was not helping on the paper route; it’s ridiculous and I refuse to support it. They have to drive down to the paper depot, pick up the papers, stuff them, put them in the car, drive back up to our neighborhood and deliver. Let’s look at this logically, shall we? The depot is a good 3, 4 miles away, and while driving a car that gets 17 miles to the gallon they spend a quarter a day in gas, not including the rapid depreciation of the car due to the miles they’re piling on it. The family receives 6 dollars a day. 6 dollars! It takes 3 people an hour to do the route, and after gas they each make less than 2 dollars an hour.

My sleep is worth much, much more than 2 dollars an hour.

“It’s not about the money.” Jeff declared today at breakfast. It’s not? Oh, so it must be about the exalting elation one experiences while getting up at 5 AM to be underpaid. I understand that. If that’s your cup of tea, that’s just fine, just don’t get me involved.

Today mum came to me at some ungodly hour of the morn and shook me into consciousness. “We need help with the paper.” She said.

I rolled over and mumbled incoherently but defiantly into my pillow.

“Fine. But if you’re too tired to help us with the paper route, then I’m too tired to ever help you with your physics again.” With this she left the room.

What smashing logic! I can easily see how a paper route that is not taken out of financial necessity can be fairly compared to the pursuit of a higher education! It makes so much sense!

When I did wake up to the noise of the kitchen, I heard mum’s sharp tone from my bedroom.

“Is that for Rachael? Give me the phone, I know exactly what to say to them.”

“No, don’t invite her to breakfast, she doesn’t want to come.” Just to prove her wrong I slid out of bed and wobbled over to the table to scornfully fall into my chair.

“Jeff would you like a glass of milk? How about you, Mormor? Ricky?”

How can someone so old act so immature? Am I wrong in insisting to be left out of the paper route? I assisted last week and decided that it was rubbish that I didn’t want to dabble in; I see no reason in doing something so pointless.

So mum and I are in a tiff, and I’ve decided to go to Yale II today instead of Yale I with the fam. Ever since we moved I’ve attended both each week; I want to continue to support the Yale II young women but now also need to support Yale I because I’m in the boundaries. This seems like a small feat, but it’s not; Mormon Church is 3 hours long, for those of you who don’t know, and 6 hours in one day can be a bit much some weeks. So today I stayed home (though I’m going to attend a full 3 hours at 1:00), and I feel like such a sinner! It’s funny, but I feel so rebellious while I’m home alone, I don’t know why. It’s nice to have the home to myself, though.

Frustration is not conducive to decent or lucid writing, I’m afraid, so I apologize for such wretched material. Back in February I put much more time and thought into my blog then I do now, and what I produced was of some merit, I feel. I want to resume writing with some type of rationality, and I truly am endeavoring to do so. It is a laborious task, though, so it will take me awhile to climb back into my better habits. But hopefully I’ll start delivering something better, something deeper, and occasionally comical.

I can’t even end this entry fluidly. Ah, this is terrible! I shouldn’t post this but I need to publish the good and the bad; an accurate portrayal of my thoughts is much more important then flowery articulation, I suppose. So farewell, dearest reader, and do try to bear with me during this scarcity of brilliance. It will return to me shortly, I pray.

Last night I didn’t quite feel like going to bed, so I surfed a bit, read, and tried like mad to download Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow because it looks cute.

Around two o’ clock in the morning the bat entered the dining room in a dress and a wide rimmed hat.

“Where is everyone, did they already leave for church?” She croaked.

“Mormor, it’s two in the morning. Why are you awake?” I inquired.

“Oh, it is? Oh my…” With this she wobbled back into the hallway and out of my sight.

Oh my indeed.