Bullying is a problem; sky is blue.

Particularly when it involves teenage girls.

But... I'm sorry...

What?

thanks Lindsay.

I'm aware what the rules are but you know that I will run.  You know that I will follow you over Silbury Hill through the solar field.  You know that I will follow you.  And if I find you, will you still remember playing at trains or does this little blue ball just fade away.

Does it matter if she's asexual?

An excellent article on the sexual perception of women in film and how we feed it.

I write mostly on hotel paper.

Whitney took me to Macey's and it turns out that skittles aren't going to do the trick.  Neither will macaroni and cheese, pizza, popsicles, root beer, dr. pepper, fruit snacks, chips and queso, or Ritter Sport chocolate with corn flakes.  But the Apple Cranberry Martinelli's was really good, even if it was the only nostalgic thing I allowed myself to buy.

Last night I allowed myself to listen to something entitled the Hmmmm Mix, the significance of which is known to about five people.  There's nothing particularly special about it, most of the songs are songs I listen to on a regular basis, but as one song would end, in that split second before the next began, I could hear the opening strains.  I know this mix by heart.

Last night I allowed myself to go back.  I went through the memories, the experiences, the moments, the years.  When I'm ready, I'll go back again and write it down.  I don't want to forget those parts of the last five years.  At some point I'll bring them out and share them with my kids; there's no bitterness connected here.  I want them to know of those high points of my life, points that significantly shaped my philosophies and young adult being.

Last night I allowed myself to cry.  I think I'll allow myself to cry again today.  And probably tomorrow.  Whenever it decides to come on out.  Last night I was at the gym at a hamstring machine.  Why that reminded me so much of the situation, I'll never know, but I guess I need to accept those times because they remind me that I'm human and can feel and can love.  They remind me that I did feel and I did love.

But I'm not sure if I want the reminder right now.  I want to hang on but I also want to forget.  Which is more painful? 

we both realized it way too late.

I'm no stranger to disappointment.

Hello.  I've been first runner up at the same stupid pageant for four years in a row (and yet I'm trying once again...).  I've had friends and family disappoint me.  That's just life.  I'd like to think that I deal well with disappointment.

But right now?  After what I've heard?  After what I knew deep down?

I need some Center Stage and lots and lots of Skittles.

my girl crush rocks.

I've had a girl crush on Sophia Bush for years.  It all started 5 years ago when my roommates decided that we look similar.  Regardless of whether or not we still look alike (and I actually don't think that we do), I have become quite mesmerized by her and her ability to use her celebrity for something good.

Here is another case in which Sophia is AWESOME.  Urban Outfitters is a store for the rich wanna-be hipsters.  I've bought approximately one item from UO, but it's the frilliest, most Nordstromesque item I've ever seen there (because I'm a snob - I'd rather be a snob than a hipster).  Urban Outfitters is the place to find all your silly t-shirts that say "I'm not with stupid anymore", or the oversized Dark Side of the Moon album cover (which, for the record, I'm sure most wearers have never heard, unfortunately for them).  It's where hipster boys find their fedoras and plaid button ups that don't match.  It's also the place for all your favorite dirty, inappropriate books that make you *giggle*.

Well, Sophia brought this one to my attention.  All the more reason to NOT shop at Urban Outfitters.

Their latest?  A t-shirt that says Eat Less. 

You stay classy, odorous stubbled ones.

the long haul.

I've written down all of my graduation deadlines, figured out my schedule for my final two semesters at BYU, and downloaded the application from Sarah Lawrence.  Yay?

YAY!

your dose of "WTF...?!?!?!"

A Saudi man kept his son chained in a basement for six years.  Why?  He believed him to be possessed -- by an evil female genie.

{I am aware that this is part of Islamic theology, but still... this is ridiculous.}

feast your eyes on my new boyfriend.

Because I have an obsessive personality.  It's why I get bored.  Anyone know how to fix that?

Perception.

Dreams are supposed to give us a more unbiased picture of what we really think...right?

All I know is that I saw Inception for the third time tonight (haters to the left), saw it in Imax with the coolest dad in life, and I'm pretty sure we*** figured it out.  At some point I'm going to have enough time to jot down a legit review because this film warrants one (remember what I said about the tears?), but until then...

SPOILER LINE DON'T GET MAD AT ME I GAVE YOU FAIR WARNING IT'S YOUR OWN DAMN FAULT IF YOU KEEP READING AFTER THIS AND YOU SEE SOMETHING YOU DIDN'T WANT TO SEE.  [also, if you're like Whitney and are sick of all the Inception talk, then just go read something else because I'm SUUUUUCH a fangirl].

So remember the nifty little top?  His totem that marked his wife's sense of reality?

THAT'S JUST IT.

It marked HER sense of reality.  When she was in someone else's dream, it would continue spinning and spinning, endlessly, but when she wasn't in someone else's dream, it would topple.  The totem isn't a way of marking whether or not you're in a dream, but whether or not you're in another person's dream.

But who says it transfers to him?  The totem is connected to his projection of her; when he believes himself to be in another's dream, it spins infinitely, but in that place that he perceives isn't another's dream (and what we interpret as "reality"), it falls over.  He's created a dream state where she doesn't exist, for reasons that only a sequel can confirm, but as she says, he doesn't know he's dreaming.  It also explains the case of the vanishing ring.  Again - perception.  He believes his actual reality to be void of her, void of their marriage, void of their ring.  So when he believes he's dreaming, their marriage, and its symbol, is intact.

We could be completely off...but the first time I saw this, I felt immediately that he was still dreaming.  Why have the children not changed?  Why is Michael Caine not in Paris?  Why are things exactly the same?  The top is a red herring - it doesn't matter!

Now, who is everyone else?  Well, we believe that Mal is the person who is legitimately trying to bring him back, that others are assisting her (remember Michael Caine's plea for him to come back to reality?).  And if that doesn't convince you, remember what the keeper of the sleeping dozen in Mombasa says: Who are we to declare a person's reality?

More to come...


***By we, I mean James.  What can I say, he's smarter than I am.***

my new mission: meet Joseph Gordon-Levitt and marry him.

First step was seeing Inception and almost crying during the zero-gravity part.

NO I'M NOT KIDDING AND NO I'M NOT EMBARRASSED.

More to come.

follow up

With that piece, I went somewhere that might seem harsh, but in terms of betrayal, I'm still weak sauce.

Besides, it's all going to come out someday, right?

you humble me, Lord.

I am humbled by my own idiocy and incompetence.  As I stare at this sweet little boy that I get to tend once a week, I can't help but think about all this potential we have as human beings, potential squandered away by foolishness and mistakes.  How in the world do we ever make the right choices?

Oh what a funk I have managed to find myself in.  I'm pushing hard through the fog, grabbing onto familiar landmarks to try and find my bearings.  It feels a little bit like regression, but... I kind of have to regress to repair my mistakes.  One of these days, I'm going to look back and be grateful for what I was forced to learn, but right now, while I'm in the thickness, it feels like my fog lights are getting swallowed by the gray, wet cloud that never ends.

I hate myself a little bit.  I'm trying to repair the damage done, but all of my trying is futile because in the end, I just look desperate and embarrassing.

Perspective perspective perspective perspective.

But then I go to sleep and have the same dream and I wake up in a cold sweat and perspective seems a load of crap.

Whitney gets to listen to me whine every day about how stupid I am, how I've played the game wrong (sorry Freddy Mercury, I failed the game of love), how I am pathetic pathetic pathetic.  At least Whitney still loves me, despite my complete inability to make the right choice.  What am I so scared of?    And why am I obsessing over it now?  There's nothing I can do.  I made my choice. I can't do anything about it.

This is why my propensity for nostalgia BLOWS.  This is the time where my fantastic documenting skills mock me.  I read my journal and I see my concerns and I think, "Self.  You are masochistic.  You had something PLAIN IN THE FACE AND YOU BLEW IT.  You suck, so stop trying to fix it".

Dear _____,

I'm sorry.  I'm sorry I'm making a fool of myself.  Thanks for still being classy and wonderful.

I'm going to become a lesbian.

MOSES!

I just saw Moses run across our room!

How is he not dead yet?

p.s. Moses = the mouse in our room who is miraculously not dead yet despite spending a week with rat poison.  Maybe he's a smart mouse.

why my nails are black.

I like black nails.  It's not goth - it's en vogue.  But remember: patriotism is from within.

I'm proud of my country, but my pride is subtle, fitting my personality.  I like being an American; after all, I'm pretty sure we're the only country that eats sno-cones in great abundance.  Unfortunately, the fourth of July has become a little ruined for me.  All the talk about how we're God's chosen nation and the only country where men are truly free really bothers me, and I simply don't agree with it.  God loves all of His children, and in the eyes of a lot of countries, we're actually quite godless.

I don't love being an American because I think the United States is superior to every other country.  Besides, Henry Cavill is English.  And Chopin was Polish.  And gelato is Italian.  Even our best food comes from other countries!

I love it because it's what I know, it's what I have, and it works for me.  I'm grateful for the life that I have, the people I'm surrounded by, the blessings I receive daily, and the love that I feel from God on a continual basis.  Not because I'm American, but because I'm human.  I'm grateful for Martin Luther despising the Papacy.  I'm grateful for Henry VIII's need to get it on with Anne Boleyn.  I'm grateful for my ancestor, William Bradford's (okay, technically his wife that jumped off of the boat) rockin' leadership.  I'm grateful that most of my ancestors landed in Connecticut.  I'm grateful for my mom's ancestors, for pulling handcarts, and for their legacy of writers.  I'm grateful that I live in a place that embraced Anglicanism, Methodism, and Protestantism.  It's annoying that they didn't embrace Catholicism or Judaism, and it's annoying that they still don't brace Islamic religions, but we'll get there.  I'm grateful for Joseph Smith's bravery.  I'm grateful for my uncle who served in the Air Force.  I'm grateful for good patriotic colors - red, white, and blue look much better together than green or yellow.  There was some serious foresight there.

I'm grateful that France allowed us to beat the English.  I'm grateful that the English were willing to take us back and be friends.

I'm grateful that we've got Gershwin and Copland, but I still think Russia and Germany have better musicians (SHOCKER: out of horrible political systems!!).

I feel lucky because I have a really great life and existence.  I'm pretty sure my life would be good anywhere, but I'm happy being an American.  Carrie Underwood rocked the national anthem last night, but my heart swelled with pride when I heard the Olympic fanfare and theme.

Hey, Williams is American.

I don't think we're better than everyone else.  I don't think God loves us any more than others.  But I am content, and I am happy being an American, and I wouldn't want it any other way.

you're so right, Charlie.

nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love.