gilded amber.

Whenever I speak about where I'm from, I always feel mildly deceitful, because where I feel I'm from hasn't actually been my home in years.  It has the prettiest seasons - each one begins wonderfully and goes through the full phase before transitioning, unlike Utah where the seasons are bipolar and you're left to wonder what time of year it actually is.  Spring is usually really wet, summer is really humid, fall is really crisp, and winter is really cold.  They're that perfect sort of balance where the humidity makes everything a little more intense, and yet you don't feel as though you're going to die from the temperature extremes (granted you have a long puffer coat because that humidity seeps through your bones).

I'm like the vast majority of women.  I like fall.  I like leaves and I like them when they're orange and yellow and amber and I like them when they fall into delicate patterns around the trees.  Connecticut has the most glorious Fall colors and air - they say springtime is renewal, but to me Fall is far more renewed.  

Part of explaining to everyone why Connecticut feels like home is a long, expansive explanation that requires going into my backstory and family history and long, sad tales.  So whenever I say, "it's this quaint town in the very southern tip of Connecticut," I hope and pray they'll take it and not say, "but wait... you've been in Utah for ten years!"

There are all of those cheesy sayings about how home is where the heart is or where the hearth is or some variance of the word heart, and while I see the value in trying to quantify that sort of feeling, I know that I feel it...but can only describe it in strange terms.  Because home is where I felt the most at ease with what home is supposed to feel like, and I'm willing to bet it's not what you expect in the slightest.  My upbringing was pretty strange.  I was the epitome of the over-programmed kid, home schooled and awkward and all.  I was a figure skater and a ballerina and a pianist and a singer and I devoured every book I could get my hands on from the library where I volunteered.  Summers were always a tad frustrating because I didn't have the same schedule I was so used to, so I always relished when my birthday came around.  Not because my birthday was ever anything exciting (I didn't really have friends, so I never had parties), but because the end of August always started smelling a little different.  And with that smell came new piano pieces from Yoshie, a new school year regulated by my mom, new leotard colors for the next level in my progression, and a new schedule to grow accustomed to.

I sincerely hope my parents never feel sadness in the reality that I don't associate home with family activities or dinners, because we just didn't have any of those.  My family is what it is, and I love it for its dysfunction and oddities, and I love those who are my family (a list I expand to more than just blood relation these days).  But that doesn't change the truth that to this day when I think of home, I feel the presence of the ballet studio where I spent hours upon hours trying to get my feet to be better.  The living room in Yoshie's house where I spent hours upon hours trying to convince her I'd practiced when I hadn't.  The small, winding roads where I spent hours upon hours gazing at how beautiful our landscape was.

Each time I drive to my pilates class, I pass through a little curvaceous, wooded area where the traffic lights and roads aren't in perfect grid, and for about 6 seconds or so, I feel like I'm home again.  It's strange, and maybe even mildly pathetic, but I love those short seconds where Salt Lake City turns into New Canaan in my head.  

As interesting as my family life was and has been, my version of home also includes a family that's still basically together.  I never say that to anyone, because I definitely don't crave any form of pity - I have an amazing life and family, and there are so many more who cannot say that - but there is a measure of completeness that I associate with Connecticut.  It was where my parents were married and my siblings came to visit.  It's where I fell in love with ballet and classical music and books.  It's where my testimony was cultivated.  It's where I found joy in reading a book in a wooded area surrounded by fallen leaves.  It was before the pain and angst of depression and divorce and dying dreams.  

I don't think I'll ever be able to go back, because I doubt it will live up to my memories.  Memories are distorted, particularly after difficult life experiences, and it's become so romantic in my head.  Magical, even.  It's not fair to hold it to those expectations, and while I'd love to raise my children in those same surroundings, it's probably more realistic to just love those images I've stored away, and find a new place that will cultivate love and calm in a different way.

But what will never change are those glorious, perfect fall leaves.  So maybe there is still a little bit of home left there, after all.

inflect.

When I was 14 years old I started journaling, without any sort of lock or password, on LiveJournal.  I don't remember how I found it or why I even started doing it, but it's fun (and funny) for me to look back on who I was 14 and a half years ago, and what I thought of the world around me, and who I was trying and hoping to be.  My story at fourteen is sort of a strange one, because I turned fourteen in California with my mom in this little house with a garage that didn't really work and a life away from the one I had felt more comfortable with.  In fact, I even went to an Art's high school.  It doesn't always feel like that was me - the nerdy girl with blondish hair and bad teeth and really long, lurpy limbs.  Who went by Jenny (or was it Jennie at that time?  I could never make up my mind).  And glasses.  That was an important factor.  One of my best friends at that high school was ALSO named Jennie G.  So I was Jennie G. with glasses.

The next year I moved to Utah and became Jen and got contacts and quit it with the blonde highlights.

But at OCHSA (Orange County High School of the Arts) I was awkward and strange and was lucky enough to have Mrs. Todd as my English teacher who taught me how nice it was to have a notebook and a pen with which things could be resolved... or at least understood a little bit better.

Maybe it seems strange to you, but when I had that pen and that little hardcover journal that I think had pale green stripes, I felt like the pen gave me a way to connect to home.  There's a little piece of me that still wants to connect to that girl, the one who would run up the steps to her dance studio every day, and who would practice for hours (even if begrudgingly) at the piano, and who would live for the church activities on Tuesdays or Wednesdays (especially if it meant seeing a Mr. Alex Ohrn on whom I had a MAD crush forever).  Sometimes I see her living in a different dimension that's stuck in the year 2000 or 2001, happy and content with the humid summer changing into the fall leaves.  And I like to think that she's always happily doing developes and working on her turn out and learning more Bach and Chopin.

Because the girl who lived to see September 2001 lost a lot and never really got it back.

I don't like talking about that day because it makes me sick.  Literally.  It makes me feel things I don't like feeling.  Shame and depression and panic and anxiety.  It reminds me of my mom screaming and early morning seminary and family members who worked on Wall Street and being forced to go to school despite not speaking with those family members.  I also feel silly because it became this ridiculous cross I bore visibly every day at school: I wasn't willing to face the pain and agony of losing my identity back in Connecticut, and I certainly wasn't ready to look at what had just happened to my family, so I used a terrorist attack instead.  I looked at all of those tanned kids in California with what was certainly the same sort of fear I felt, and I hated them because of geographic location.  I despised the house in which I lived, and the school I attended, and that haughty anger became my coping mechanism.

Looking back, it was a dumb way to respond, but I've never been great when it comes to dealing with pain.  And yes, I have just managed to turn a national tragedy into something about me - sadly my narcissism knows few bounds.

These days I struggle with the openness with which everyone addresses it, not because I think I'm above anyone's form of grieving, but because I look at how much hatred still exists and how backwards we can be when it comes to other religions and ethnicities, and it sickens me almost as much as those smokey images do.  The way things were sensationalized are gross and even crude.  There have been movies made and politicizing and fear mongering and it makes me crazy.  There are literally millions of stories and perspectives with regard to that event, and to pretend that my life story is more important than someone else's, particularly one that lost a life, is selfish and unfair.

But then again, human suffering is kind of selfish and unfair, and regardless of how you were affected or where you were or how you remember it, it was a turning point.  For me it was a kind of cliched loss of innocence, as it made the numerous separations surrounding my situation more real and solid and tangible, and when the haze lifted, and I saw what the world was capable of, I began to really understand fear.

Luckily for me I had that pen and notebook.

on discipline and trust of the female persuasion.

Every once in a while I have a dream about Laura McLean, or about Yoshie Akimoto, and often they end up in the same dream.  They're usually pushing me at the barre or at the piano or they're at my place of work telling me to sell more and be the best and keep pushing even though my feet hurt and my fingers are tired.

It's a little bit strange, but it's also a little bit comforting because when I need that extra boost to really move forward through the pain and frustration, they are the ones that somehow get me moving, even after all these years.  I haven't seen Ms. McLean since I was seventeen years old, haven't even trained under her since I was thirteen.  The last time I worked with Yoshie was five years ago.  And yet these women have this remarkable influence in the person I've become and continue becoming, regardless of the time and the distance.

These two women made me reach my limits, and more often than I liked I felt a lot of shame in their presence knowing that I hadn't achieved what I was capable of.  When they have such intense faith in your abilities, and you screw around or let the practice waste away or ignore the task set before you, you can't help but feel as though you've disappointed those who believe in you most.  But in those times when I had a break through, when they guided me to create something of value, I felt such a genuine love and connection with them that I can only describe as motherly. 

Some of my fondest memories are sitting at the piano in Yoshie's front room, angled slightly toward her as she would tell me an anecdote from her youth, or as she would discuss the gospel of Jesus Christ with me in musical terms, or as she would complain about how much the democrats were ruining this country.  We would talk politics and life, and during some of my more difficult moments in my teen years she would let my eyes well with tears while she discussed my parents, and then she would tell me to move past it by putting my faith in God and in the piano.  And to stop crying because there was Bach to be played.  

I have no doubt that the difficulty I had in high school is directly related to Yoshie's absence from my life.

Ms. McLean quite literally yelled at me more often, perhaps more than anyone else.  Yelling at my feet and my arms and my fingers and my tush and my knees, but not the kind of yell that hurts.  Instead she yelled at their temporary inadequacy, yelling reminders of potential not quite formed.  I will always remember this one evening in the mid-winter that changed the way I viewed how I worked.  I couldn't tell you which year it was, or which day of the week, but I can tell you that I was feeling so inadequate and aimless and lost.  Looking back I think it's pretty clear that my family's instability was starting to take a toll on my emotional health, and I probably should have been working with someone even at twelve years old, because I remember feeling a complete slump in every area of my life.  I had plateaued and couldn't find my way out of the hole.  I had been such a strong dancer, and quickly, and then suddenly I wasn't improving and I was frustrated.  More than anything else, Ms McLean wasn't yelling like she once did.  Somehow I found a way to talk to her, and express how every single class left me wanting and a little empty, and that I was no longer feeling motivated or pushed to improve.  The next day she let me take the upper level class with the girls who were five and six years older than me, an evening that helped me realize what I could be capable of.  I worked harder than I'd worked in a class for a long time.  All I wanted was to prove to Ms. McLean that I deserved to be in there, and that I was deserving of a little yelling again.  To this day I quite literally remember the adagio we did at the barre - the ENTIRE exercise, to the point of feeling the pain in my arms and shoulders from pushing that barre so hard in order to make my attitude higher and my bevel more pronounced in my pointe shoes.

The first time I ever sat down and had a conversation with Erika was in my house in Provo.  I was sitting on Grandma's red velvet couch and she was sitting on that stiff-backed chair that had needlepoint work on it, and she explained the benefit of competing at the national teen pageant.  What started as a director-titleholder relationship evolved bit by bit each year.  Back then, 7 years ago, I didn't want to disappoint her because of how much she was investing in the person that I was presenting myself as.  There came a time when I didn't want to disappoint her because I wanted to be like her.  And now I don't want to disappoint her because she may know me better than anyone, and therefore she knows who I can be.  Even scarier, she knows that I know who I should be.  To not live up to that would be so painful for me, and it wouldn't matter if she knew what I was doing or not.  Just the simple fact that Erika would expect more is enough for me to second guess some decisions I might make.  She may not have been the one sitting at a nearby piano or wearing teaching ballet heels, but she's been the one to ensure that the discipline and perseverance I learned in those arenas have transfered to the individual I am.  She was never afraid to tell me when I did wrong, like that one time in June 2007 after I'd had a meltdown after talent.  And I hope that I've learned from those experiences, and her love and support have given me the chance to rectify wrongs and be better.

Sometime soon I'm going to start writing publicly about what happened in the early spring of 2010, but until then I will just say that Leslie Tanner had the inspiration to be the person who checked up on me, who offered the advice over dinner, and who gave me the encouragement to see a doctor about finding my way back to being the person that these other women have helped me to be.  Not only did she birth girls who I consider to be sisters (and one of whom who is the most wonderful best friend I could have), but she is an extraordinary friend who I know I can count on.

Finally, I don't know how well you know my own mother, but she is a fighter.  Last night we went to my niece's dance recital and I felt such overwhelming gratitude for the woman who gave me life, who fostered my innate talent, who found such remarkable teachers to harness that talent, who put me in that teen pageant that changed my life.  She never let me quit, even when I begged and begged.  She drove me everywhere, and she put up with my whining and crying, and she encouraged me to be the best.  She had the vision to put me with individuals who understood foundational principles in education and the arts, and these women who have had motherly influence over me were a part of my existence because my own mother chose them.

God has blessed me with extraordinary women in my life.  Women who work every day, with monetary compensation or not, who produce amazing results in their careers and their families and in how they serve outside their homes.  I'm not sure if my experience is all that normal, this entire situation where I have so many women to look to as mother-figures, but I couldn't be more grateful that I do indeed have such a blessing.

It's no secret that I want desperately to be a mother.  Partially because I've had this weird pull toward playing with and tending to little children, even as a child myself.  Mostly because I want to have the opportunity to teach what these women have taught me.  My associations of motherly affection with all of them are surely culturally influenced, as the "Mother model" or paradigm in my brain connects a woman pushing me to be my best with my own mom, but I don't see it as a bad thing at all.  Indeed, I am more grateful for the moments when these women have pointed out my mistakes, and provided the tools to make them triumphs.  It's very spiritual, and perhaps one day we'll have more proof of why it feels so spiritual, but right now I'm not going to worry about why I feel such love and gratitude.

Instead I'm just going to say thank you for being the women I trust.

sea of [tears salt love]

Ugh.  I am not allowed to stay up all night long as I did the other night, even if it is just playing Scum for six hours straight at a cabin in the woods with my little brother and his friends.  Because then it sets my entire schedule out of whack, and I can't sleep, and when I don't sleep I read, and when I read I find truth, and when I find truth I cry, and when I cry and I find truth I want to write, and then I want to write things that I cannot tell you.

My apologies.

There's so much I wish to speak about, rejoicing in events and expressing just how scared I am, mostly just so that I can share all of this with somebody in the only way that I really feel I'm competent.  Instead of telling you about some recent happenings that make my heart flutter and my muscles ache and my soul content, I'm going to keep my trap shut because I have to. Because I have made so much progress, and I've been so good, and I've done it all the right way... but I'm bursting here.

You wouldn't know me.  You'd be shocked, actually.  I've evolved a lot over the last few months into this strange person who feels really confident, and independent, and shockingly at peace with whatever happens.  That is, until it's 4:30 in the morning and hormones are probably to blame and suddenly I lose my security and just want to be in a different room in a different city just so that I can hear you breathe and watch your chest rise up and down while you sleep.

Am I making sense?  No?  Good.  Because none of this is supposed to.  Because I can't!

I mean, can you just buy me a damn penguin already so I can just be content with my current status and just let it be?

all of this is brought to you by Azar Nafisi and her stupid insistence that I find intelligence, and career, and once I feel like I've made a good showing there, find myself some love.  What if it doesn't want to find me back?!

sup.

Just a quick hello.  I'm staying busy with work, and my social life, and some other really neat things that are happening.  Like, suuuuuper neat.  I am working on a couple of really interesting projects that are inspiring and exciting and I cannot wait to share them with you.  But before then, I'm just extra pleased with life right about now. I mean, I found this amazing pilates reformer class up here in the SLC that rocks my world (and I like it so much, I'm cool with getting only four hours of sleep tonight so I can go before work tomorrow!), and I'm going to see The Hunger Games tomorrow, and this weekend is the 3rd Rachmaninoff piano concerto at the symphony.  Life would be just too perfect if I were in, say... the Bahamas right now, so I'm willing to take a little bit of a downer here and there.  To remind me that good things are on the way.  Besides, no one wants this to turn into a crazy faux happiness blog less than I do, so I'll take a few disappointing events in my favorite sort of 5-inch heel stride.  I'm pretty sure that's just called life.

This thing called life is grand though.  Good and bad.  But let's face it, I'm getting really good at being okay with the occasional bad - a little perspective is a good thing.

I admit - my shoe collection helps me get through the rough patches.  Well, that and this really great thing called faith.

I'm lucky.  Not much more I can say.

if you wait for someone else's hand.

Unfortunately I am predictable, and possibly even a living cliche.  It's a bit depressing, really.  I'd give anything to be entirely against the grain and to be that individual who is always keeping you guessing... but I like my predictability.  I like pretty things and pretty music and pretty dancing and general, overall prettiness.  I like the things I've always enjoyed like music and dance and clothing and films and books, and I doubt I'll ever change.  It's why I always go back to what I know, particularly when I'm feeling down or uninspired or insecure.

In summation, I have had two really blissful, wonderful weekends with friends and loved ones who make me happy and keep me smiling and sometimes might even annoy me in all of the right ways.

And boy oh boy do I miss dance.

a love affair with Freed.

There aren't a ton of memories that I remember more vividly than the day Ms. McLean and Ms. Gage told me I was going on pointe.  They pulled me out into the back room with all of the cubbies for our bags and personal gear and looked like they were about to jump out of their skin.  I had already been Clara in Nutcracker, which was a really cool moment (and also seemed so out of the ordinary since it seemed as though cute Colleen with her abnormally perfect feet was Clara every year), so things were looking up - but when they told me what they were bursting with, I was so surprised.  I'd only been with the studio for about a year, but Ms. Gage said she and Ms. McLean had been giddy on the phone the night before talking about how they really did feel that I was ready.

It's one of those culmination-type moments.  Everything you've been working on, and your perseverance, come to fruition at the next step.  But more than that, it's the hope and promise of what's to come.  You have no idea where it's going to go.  For all you know it's not even going to work.  You'll have problems with tendonitis or you won't be able to bevel or your bad feet will be the death of your career.  Or you'll develop great sensitivity to music and interpretation and your opportunities will be abundant and you'll have something with which you can be completely, hopelessly, and intoxicatingly in love with.  Even long past the time you've finished and hung up your last pair of Freeds.

That was a really cool moment in my life.  Ms. Gage, Ms. McLean, and I formed a little triangle there in the doorway - Ms. Gage on my left and Ms. McLean on my right.  I remember staring at them stoically, nodding with bitten lips, processing everything as I thought an adult would.  "You want me to go on pointe even though I've only been training here for a year?  You think I'm ready to progress?  You want me to move up a level in classes?  Yes, this all sounds perfectly wonderful and I am excited for the opportunity."  Maybe it was my homeschooling, but I was sort of a little adult in these situations.  Finally Ms. McLean grabbed my arm and said, "aren't you excited?" and her wide smile transfered my own wide eyes into a huge grin, and we squealed.  We probably jumped a little.  And then I made my mom take me at ten a.m. the next day to get shoes that I "absolutely have to have for dance TODAY".  And then I tried to be sneaky and put them on for some of my curious friends on a Saturday in between class and rehearsal - not so sneaky because Ms. McLean was looking for us and she walked into the bathroom and caught me and gave me a knowing look.  But I'm pretty sure I still giggled to myself and grinned and probably remained grinning straight for another sixteen hours until I realized how much those pretty little blocks of wood were going to hurt.

So when I have those little occasions to grin incessantly, just because I can, and just because I probably should, and just because you gave me a little extra reason to, I think back on that first time I had the perma-grin.  I can't help it.  I want to cherish these moments when my face is stuck in a stupid smile and my heart is leaping because when my feet are bleeding and I have blisters and the tendonitis gets to be a bit much, I can look back on the beginnings and remember why I fell for it in the first place.  And I can remember that even if it's a littler uncertain where I'll end up, there's always hope and promise for more new beginnings.

to my dancing friends.

or those who have dancing friends.

Nationals is almost upon is.  It breaks my heart a little bit knowing that my dresses will be out there without me, but I'm excited to watch my friends dance and to spend the weekend in that dungeon with all of you.  I'm already doing makeup for a few people, but I wanted to let you know that I'd love to do makeup for multiple people.

Look here to see some of my older work that I've done on myself.

As I said back then, my philosophy is easy: you need to stand out for the right reasons on the floor.  Your entire look is paramount to placing well, and makeup is a huge part of that.  I wish I could do hair... but unfortunately I cannot.  I am not a professional makeup artist by any stretch, but I am a little bit more adept at that particular form of beauty.

These days my appearance is crucial to my profession, and I often photograph what I do with my outfits and makeup, so I've got some more recent photos to document what I've done (complete with a cameo by my dad's remarkable walk-in closet).  The lighting is horrid and you can see that I rely on one hairstyle more than others and this is getting dangerously close to turning into a style blog-esque post.  Forgive me.

As you can see, I'm not afraid to play with color, whether on the lip or the lid.  I also believe in being brave with styling.  A final word on styling: not everyone appreciates mine.  My gowns have been christened things like "chocolate hershey kiss" or "chocolate mousse on tinfoil" and I've done things with my hair and styling that confuse people, such as my high bun that became the norm for me in competition or my lack of glitter on my face or the lack of silly eyeliner everywhere.  I believe in taking my cues from the fashion world, and while the high bun was mostly borne out of inability to do anything else, there's no doubt that it is incredibly on trend right now... so say what you will!

Perhaps what I'm trying to say is - Trust Me.  I'm happy to offer you consultation on hair, even if I can't necessarily execute it, and of course your overall look.

Please leave me a comment here, or at my facebook if you'd like me to do your makeup.  $15 - full face; $10 - eyes only.  When we chat we will discuss your wardrobing for the competition, and all I ask is that you bring your own makeup.  I have a more than ample supply of brushes to use (and yes, I will sanitize between each use).

Best of luck to all of you!

look at your life, look at your choices.

The only prominent New Year's celebration I remember is when I was probably about 6 or 7 years old.  We had been living in Utah for a little while (this was in between Dallas and New Canaan), living in a condo in North Provo, up on the mountain above Timpview High School.  A lot of the memories I have surrounding that house involve really embarrassing things, like the time I harassed my brother Jim while he was on the phone with his fiance and got in BIG trouble from my dad, or the time I told my brother Erik's date she was ugly, or the first time I ever said the word bitch (how was I supposed to know what it meant?!).

Obviously I have an ability to remember the more traumatic moments in my life.  Like the game of Clue we had that New Year's Eve.

One of my brothers had to have said something to scare me so much.  Don't ask me why, but Clue freaked me out that night.  I was scared for my life as I was going to bed, thinking that Mr. Green was going to come find me and kill me with some non-traditional murder weapon, and that my remains would be stashed in some crawl space in the house that no one knew existed.

I think of this each time I play Clue.  And I've never told anyone.  Until now.  It feels like I'm unearthing what has been a burdensome secret.  Because if you can't say it at New Year's, when can you, eh?

As I was playing Clue the other night with the kiddos, I realized what I must have been like as a kiddo myself, trying to be a part of the older crowd around me.  My nieces and nephew seem so much younger than I was at their age, and maybe that's the commonplace thought we have as we grow older, this idea that surely we were much more mature or well-adjusted or behaved when "that age".  In my head I justify thinking this by reminding myself that I was surrounded by adults; my oldest sibling is 14 years older, so I've never really been in a family with children.  But then as I play with these really darling kids who sometimes play the piano too loud in the morning when I'm trying to sleep, I sincerely hope that I was just as naive and innocent as they are now.

It's fun to remember each passing year with a theme, because it's nice to succinctly argue the case for one's maturing.  I don't know if I have a theme anymore.  2009 was In Repair.  2010 was Golden Years. 2011 was... what?  Another song with a great melody?  A catchphrase to boost my good choices and gloss over my poor choices?  Let's see if I can find a common thread somewhere.

In January I took a giant step forward in my spiritual journey and progression, one that was completely my own, and one that wasn't even necessary.  I did it because I enjoy doing things on my own terms (but you all know this), and because it was absolutely the right thing to do.  I also kissed a friend who I will continue to kiss for life, because it is true love.

February was full of relapse and frustration.  Like I've said before, I hate February.

I won a crown in March.  That was neat.

April brought me a boy after a dance party.  It was very BYU, the way it all happened.

May was a whirlwind of road trips, plane rides, and insecurity, capped off with a resignation from what probably would have been a trip to Miss America after finally experiencing that weird and unsettling and intoxicating feeling of quite literally falling in love with someone.

June generated employment, which I now see as the second greatest blessing God gave me this year.  If it were not for that job I would have been stuck in the abyss of what happened in the middle of June, when I realized why I should not fall in love with people.  I also realized that even the people you love the most, and the people you give the most to will still fail you.

July sounded like Lady Gaga.  Also, no more radio show.  Sad, but sometimes you have to give your time to that which pays the bills.

August had pool parties and giant sleepovers in the party house and permanent employment and new roommates and new friends and girls in bikinis and boys in euro-shorts.

The coolest part of this second greatest blessing came to me in September.  I'm never content with mediocrity (despite what my abysmal blog has shown you this year) or stagnancy, so when the opportunity to be promoted came, I jumped at it.  Never would I have imagined myself in retail, and never would I have imagined myself as someone with style, but the opportunities keep on coming and I am one of those lucky people who can say she genuinely loves her job.  All because of a little interview with Mama Speters.

I was Black Swan in October.  That is all.  Actually, it's not.  I kissed one of my best friends, which wasn't really the smartest thing to do.  Whoops.  Oh well.  Still love him anyway.

I'm sure something cool happened in November, like some sort of life changing event, but all I can really think of right now is that I had a lot of really delicious turkey on Thanksgiving Day.  Oh yeah, I had to quit dancing.  That wasn't so cool.  But a necessary thing to do in order to be the person that I want to be.  Mike McShinsky is one of the best people I know - I'm a better person for the time I got to spend with him.  It was an honor, Michael.  Also, I think my addiction to Dr. Pepper hit full force in November.  No turning back.

So how's this last month been?  Long.  Hard.  Exhausting.  I gained some remarkable clients, have gone on more formal dates than the rest of the year all-together, went to Disneyland for 40 hours, bought a designer handbag (and no, not the low-end part of a label), and became less of a pansy and a little more bad A all around, mostly thanks to a well-timed haircut.  All of the above have been surrounded by a lot of family... a lot more family than I'm used to, and it's been so wonderful.

You know what?  This may be the first time that I don't regret anything I did this year.  I mean, maybe I regret some of the nights I ate Taco Bell instead of Del or all of the Mr. Pibb I had to drink instead of Dr. Pepper because my employer doesn't carry any.  And I did regret a couple of purchases, but I rectified those by returning them.  Outside of that, I look at my life, and I look at my choices (I see what I did there!) and I'm really content with how I've allowed some things to happen to me and how I've taken charge when things got a little too far outside of my control.

2011 started really well, and it took a couple of sharp nose dives, but I managed to find ways to pull it all off eventually.  Lots of tears and fruit snacks were needed, and I became really grateful for a temple recommend.  But mostly I see the common thread of what I know without doubt or insecurity: I have faith in a loving God who enables us with multiple pathways, many of which are good ones.  I've been allowed to choose my path, and while some of my choices have been rash, I'd like to believe that even though I'm not always the person I want to be, God knows my heart and what my end game is.  And helps me to get there.

In many ways I'm just trying to do what I knew to be true as a little girl - move with faith knowing that I'm loved and cared for.  Hopefully my nieces and nephews have the chance to learn that, too, because even the young and innocent deserve to see where faith can take you through the years.

A toast to more water drinking, gym going, sleep acquiring, Brandon Flowers' listening, money making, and spiritual training in 2012.

Cheers.

I have the best dreams.

You know this.  Whitney knows this.  My dad knows this.  My lovely roommates are learning this.  They're just so much fun because I'm always running from zombies or hanging out with Johnny Weir (I swear I'm not a stalker except what exactly defines a stalker?) or freaking out because I'm arriving to the competition venue late without my dress or earrings or Smooth heels.

Now that my life revolves around work (and Dr. Pepper), my dreams do as well.  Last night's involved this gorgeous home that transformed into the store that was my place of work.  I had a girl come in who wanted to try some jeans, and eventually I got to the point of saying, "well, you definitely need a skinny, and a boot cut, AND you can't go wrong with a great flare!"  I was pulling everything, and when one didn't work, I knew the next to get.

My product knowledge and the way it permeates my subconscious astounds me.  And my desperation for this woman to spend six hundred dollars with me was also telling.

That said, here are the best skinnies, boot cut, and flares, not just for my body type, but I feel ALL body types.  It's always hard to generalize across the board, but I've styled a lot of different bodies and these are the three that work for virtually everybody.

Paige Skyline in Twilight

In the same day I pulled a 32 for one client and a 24 for another and it looked phenomenal on both.  The wash is perfect for dressing up with heels, dressing down with flats, or in between with boots.  It has the right amount of stretch and the higher rise makes everybody happy, even those worried about the muffin top.  Paige has insane followers, and while I'm not always one, I'm there with this particular piece.

Hudson Signature Boot

Love me some Hudsons.  The pockets sit higher than the pocket on a True Religion, and the detailing isn't obnoxious.  I don't know how it does it, but the Hudson flap pocket makes every woman's behind look wonderful.  The double button creates a thicker band, which makes for that full-coverage fit in what is often a tough place for women - the hips and lower waist.

Current/Elliott Trouser

Are you not on the flare train yet?  I'm going to get you there - promise.  For whatever reason only three things get me compliments each and every time I wear them - my Vince Camuto booties, my Mother 70s wash flare, and my Dylan George trouser-cuff flare, and usually I'm wearing one of the two jeans with the booties.  I know what you're thinking - we wore them in 1999 with that sick, Paris Blue color.  We ALL wore them and we wore them with Doc Martins that you never saw because the opening of the jean massively encompassed the entire shoe.  This is not that flare.  This is tailored to the knee, and instead it gradually works its way into a gentle flare.

I know what else you're thinking, "only skinny girls without hips can wear flares".  Guess what - I've got child-bearing hips AND a butt, and I love them more than I can say.  My suggestion to those of you who are concerned about too much bulk is to ALWAYS wear a flare with some sort of a heel.  Beauty is pain, and believe me, it will be worth it.

Okay.  Back to reality.  I couldn't dance in DanceSport this weekend, which was really difficult.  I'm that person who cannot just go dance.  If I'm going to do it, then I'm going to do it right.  For the same reasons I ended my time in pageants, it may be time to say goodbye to dance - I have too much respect for the art form and too much of an ego to let myself simply enter a competition without the appropriate practice and time.  And unfortunately, I don't have that time right now.  It's been really tough, and sort of culminated in first crying in my dad's arms at work, and then crying to my boss in her office.  

For whatever reason God blessed me pretty abundantly with a lot of random capabilities, and I've loved every single one of them.  I've written about this "no regrets" thing before, and how it's such a pretty idea, but it's not remotely possible for me.  Do I regret not being a ballerina, or a pianist, or a Broadway performer, or an Olympic figure skater, or Miss America, or a ballroom national champion?

Absolutely.

Is that a negative thing?

I'm not certain that it is.

Again, regret doesn't have to be an energy-sucker.  What I have to remind myself is that I could not be a Jack-of-all-Trades, but my passion for all of them means I couldn't really be a master-of-one either.  What I've realized is the common thread in everything is this concept of unique expression, and as I've gotten older, I've constantly found a new form of this artistic way to communicate.  Where I probably differ from a lot of people is that I started really early, and my skill set was more honed at a younger age, but it also means that my resume is filled with all of these crazy experiences that make for better story telling.

And that's where it all finds a home again.  Because as much as I love a radio program's setting of back-and-forth-banter, in the end, just me and a computer keyboard and some Christmas tunes (I'm sorry, I tried to wait, but I couldn't do it anymore!) are my grounding force.  The above activities formed my discipline, taught me passion, and fostered this enormous contextual reference with which I can draw from creatively.

I'm lucky.  I know that.  What I'm hoping is that I'm learning to move forward, knowing that the what-ifs will always be there, but instead of being bitter and sad that nothing more came of it, I hope that I can always reflect with pride and satisfaction for what I did in the time that I had with each area of focus.

Constantly In Repair, right?

Dear Friends

It's been a little bit of time, and I'm sorry about the delay, and I wish I could write more but a girl can only do so much and sleep is really important to me.

I'm living such a great life and I'm loving it, but that might change, because the next two months are going to be borderline hell.  A timeline, if you will:

This week begins Women's Half Yearly.  To give you an idea of how busy I am... well, I have to sell 7000 on the first day of the sale alone.  Yup.  (that yup is for you, Cassie)

I have a competition on Saturday.  That I'm not ready for. Because I'm always working and can never practice with my partner.  But in order to practice and compete I have to work.  See the problem here?

The week after is still Women's Half-Yearly.  And then it's the November competition.  The big one.  That we're REALLY not ready for.  Again, with the working and the not being able to practice and the STRESS DREAMS EVERY DAMN NIGHT.

The week after that is leading up to Thanksgiving and thennnnnn pure hell begins, otherwise known as holiday shopping.  I mean, I'm working Christmas Eve until 6.  It's fine.

The bright spot in all of this is a family trip to Disneyland that so happens to fall on my days off in the middle of December.

All of these one-liners are intended to warn you that this guy might be neglected for a while, because you see, I'm trying to pay attention to too many guys in my life as it is, and the blogger template page is just asking too much right now.

wrap up

I really need to be in bed.  Really really really need to be in bed.  Tomorrow is going to be a long day and I still need to figure out what I'm going to wear and ugh tomorrow is going to begin in about 6 hours.

So rather than put together a real essay for all of y'all (embracing my Texas roots here - yes, I do have some.  not many.  but some.), I'm going to give you bullet points of why my life is really awesome or why my blog would be nauseating (and mostly fake) if I did this all the time.

+ First, I had an amazing weekend.  I went to Cornbelly's with my nieces.  They are adorable when they pretend to be scared, and even more adorable when we bond over mildly traumatizing experiences.  I'm so lucky to be close to them.  I wish I knew my brother Erik's kids better, but hopefully in time.

+ Second, the weekend got even more amazing when I bailed my roommate out of jail.  It's a true story.  Which merits its own essay complete with photographic evidence.  We picked her up and then went dancing in Park City.  It was a really good time.  Serious.

+ Third, I think some really great things are going to be happening soon - reconciliation and new territory and some awesome snacks to go along with both.

+Fourth, it feels really good to look at someone who wants desperately to matter and know that they are entirely insecure.  Hmmmm, that sounds really mean.  Someone tried to give me some relationship advice and the entire time, all I could think of was how utterly ridiculous this life philosophy that was being presented was.  What's more ridiculous is that I let it get to me, and thankfully I've got friends who ground me in reality.  Meaningful relationships don't come of the superficial, but of the deep and intense.  You say sixth date material, I say hour 2.  I mean, neither of us are married, so who knows who is right, but what I do know is he's fifteen years my senior and still dating girls my age sooooo.....

+ Fifth, the joy I get from my job probably isn't fair.  I never thought I was all that stylish, but I'm loving the creativity that I get to express every day when helping individuals feel great about themselves.  This is also deserving of its own essay, but the quick version is that I've got a serious complex about doing something worthwhile.  I'm not sure where it came from, be it parents or siblings or entertainment or my own strange psychosis, but I am fulfilled in knowing that I'm doing something that means something to someone.  However, there was always an extra caveat that spoke in the recesses of my brain saying, "but you need to be doing what everyone expects you to do and what everyone expects of an intelligent woman."

I never saw that as anything but a career that is high profile or impressive or hard to attain.  Because, naturally, that means I've arrived as a human being of extraordinary worth, right?

I sell clothes, you guys.  I sell high-priced fashion, some trendy, and some classic, to all ages of individuals.  I get hit on, I clean up your messy dressing rooms, I deal with commission drama, I literally have conversations about the importance of a tank versus a camisole.

This is not what I imagined.

I also didn't imagine that I would love it.  Some days I'm just selling designer denim to douchebags who flirt with me when their girlfriends are in the dressing rooms and some days I'm just selling 32 dollar t-shirts to girls looking for something for date night.  But some days I work with people and I learn who they are.  I discover why they're buying the item, and what role it's going to play in their lives.  I realize what's important to them, and if we're lucky, we actually become friends.  Some days I have people who come in and ask if I'm there, just because they trust me with their secrets and their frustrations and their exciting news.  Some days I pick an outfit and have a conversation and instead of leaving distraught and frustrated, they leave feeling a little bit better about themselves.

It's kind of crazy how life happens.

Maybe it doesn't matter to you, but knowing that I get to do something that I love, and knowing that I get to come home and write, and knowing that I am happy is really becoming enough.

This guy that I dated, he was always worried that I needed something to fulfill me.  I think he wanted family and life to simply just be enough.  And I have really successful family members that I need to live up to.

Like I said, being happy is becoming enough.  I'm still convincing myself, and it might take a little while, but for now I'm just going to love the joy of what I get to do.

overdue.

Sleep should be happening, but my mind is really busy tonight with thoughts of conference and pageants and frustrations.  Sleep will happen eventually, but what I wish I could do right now is go dance.

Cliched as it may be, a partially dark room, and a gorgeous piece of music, and the freedom to just move is such a phenomenal way to relieve stress and work through the various problems and situations that arise.  Someday I'm going to have to stop dancing - sad, but true - and I will miss it.  For now, however, I'm insanely lucky.

My dance partner is a saint.  Anytime someone asks who I'm dancing with, and I say Mike McShinsky, I add, "Yeah - I know... I SCORED".

So Michael, thanks for dancing with me.  I'm a bit of a trial to dance with because I'm a workaholic who has insane hours, so practicing can get complicated, but I feel so privileged to dance with you.  We've competed once, and performed at the teen pageant last night, and things are still really rough, but I cannot wait to see where our hard work takes us.

And Mayo - we will make you proud. Promise!

I want to tell you how much I love you.

Exhausted.  That doesn't really encapsulate it.

Drained?  Probably more accurate.

Hey friends - I'm not blowing you off.  I'm working 40+ hours a week, and dancing when I'm not working, and sleeping in between.  I didn't even get to say goodbye to my brother and sister-in-law as they went back home to Brazil.  I want to see everyone - I just have to work :(

I've got this pit in my stomach thinking about this letter that I need to write.  Why is it that I can type useless, mostly meaningless things into my keyboard every day and when it comes time to find the important things, they won't come out?

Let's face it.  I really miss my family.  You included (no, not collective.  Specific).

Ballroom gowns for sale.

{all come with accessories seen (float for red gown not pictured, but available).  green and silver gowns were custom designed by j.nico and not only are one-of-a-kind, but were made with the best fabrics and stones available.  these are some gorgeous gowns - leave a comment if you have questions}

every moment was so precious.

All of my bloggy friends have been doing updates on where they are currently in their lives.  I sort of feel like joining the herd.

1. Working at Nordstrom, in case you hadn't picked up on it or in case we aren't actually friends.  It's retail, but I think I'm going to stay forever.  Serious.  I absolutely adore it.

2. Living in SLC but moving back to Provo very, VERY soon.  Found a wonderful condo in a great area.  Stay tuned for more with that.

3. Made some remarkable friends this summer.  I'm not someone who makes friends easily - at least not in my definition of friendship, but for whatever reason I was placed in a group of truly great people and I've really loved getting to know them and growing to love them.  I'm so lucky.

4. Single and [drumroll] LOVING IT.  Serious!  Never thought I'd see the day, but I'm really enjoying dating and meeting people and not being in a relationship.  It was difficult at first, but I'm such a fan of it now.

5. Still baby hungry, which means I won't be single forever.

6. Eating a lot and not working out at all.  That needs to change.

7. Dancing Smooth and Standard with Mike McShinsky.  It's pretty wonderful, actually.  I'm so excited to keep progressing with this.  And wait till you see the dresses.

8. Eating Del Taco Funnel Cake Fries has brought me unprecedented happiness.

9. Went Back to Black today.

10. Have gel nails and I'm officially obsessed.

Basically, I live a dreamy existence.

whoopsie

spoke too soon.

Partnership has apparently fallen through.

But the other freaking awesome option is still available.

Stay tuned.

I ain't no hollaback girl.

Hanging with Mayo all weekend put my sleep schedule all off-kilter.  Totally worth it.

Some people like to wail at God every once in a while.  In LDS vernacular, we tend to refer to them as murmurers: Sariah, Laman, Lemuel, virtually anyone who wasn't Nephi or Isaiah. Yes, I murmur.  And  I whine.  And I shake my fist a little bit at the heavens when there are low points.

BUT.

I also acknowledge that God is awesome and takes care of me.   Does that cancel it out?  Do I need to stop wailing?  The Jews have an entire wall devoted to it - can't I just use this as my perennial wailing wall?  And can't I use it as my little blessing board?  [I used a literary device in the last two sentences - did you catch it?  I hope so, because it was accidental and I'm quite proud of my accidental alliteration (whoa there is it again)]

For example:

Life is super cool right now.  I could brag about all of these fun feelings I'm feeling, but I'm fairly certain that would only be further proof for those of you who think I'm bi-polar.  I guess I could put it in these terms: I will be dancing next year and he is AMAZING; it only took me like 27 times at a local to finally win one; all of my friends are finding eternal love and it's awesome; I'm not and I'm really okay with it (SERIOUS!  This is not a lie to try and trick God into sending Chase Crawford my way); my car is a beast and I love her for it; I have equally super cool friends who make my currently super cool life exponentially more super cool; my family is the bomb dot com; GOSSIP GIRL AND VAMPIRE DIARIES ARE COMING BACK.

Yes, I love two very juvenile shows, but the fashion on Gossip Girl has inspired the evening gown I want to make and the NY Times called Vampire Diaries one of the best shows of 2009.

The only downer on all of this happy-time is that it coincides with the start of spring.  I hate being that predictable.

BOOM.

What a crazy week of crazy emotions this has been.  Sure, some of you are making me utterly INSANE (but I still love you, anyway).  I don't really know why my tears and sadness = inability to let go, but luckily there are other people who I don't even need to explain it to in the slightest.  It's wonderful.  And sure I'm scared for today.  Do I really want to be in the lion's den?  And on a day that is so incredibly important to me?  HELLS NO.

Then I hear the right piece of music and I see an image in my head and I remember that I have the best fortress of friends in the entire world.

Pretty sure those lions are under my control.

And then reality comes in, and I'm insanely grateful for safety and happiness and love amongst the chaos of the natural and unnatural elements of this world.  

Then Starry Eyed Surprise comes on in my shuffle in iTunes.

Once upon a time I loved a boy and I got into the ballroom world.  It was scary and fun and wonderful and not unlike pageants at all.  I danced in ugly rented dresses with bad hair and bad makeup and bad dancing - sometimes we made a few cuts of Novice, maybe a cut or two of Pre-Champ.  But something magical happened: I found Smooth.  And Andrew and I came together under quite fortuitous circumstances, and it has developed into such a rewarding partnership that I have loved and I will miss.

Life happens and people change and realities evolve, and while my relationship status has surprised, and often discouraged, me over the last few years, dance has been the light in the uncertainty of my self-awareness.

Sometimes things end.  And sometimes we still feel the bitterness and the pain from those endings.  It doesn't mean we're stuck.  I think it means that we're human, and that we really loved, and that we really lived those experiences - bitter and beautiful.

So today I am reconciling my past, because without it, I would not have been led to the circumstances I find myself in today.  They're not perfect, and they're a little messy, and there comes all of this pressure with actually being a really competitive Amateur couple - but I never imagined that it would be me.  What an experience it has been.  Maybe it will continue, maybe it won't.

But thank you, Past, for what you have been.

Come see Andrew and Jen kick serious you-know-what at the Marriott Center at 5:45 today.  I'll be the one looking like a disco ball.  

Because I can.

to the person searching for Jamie Gines on my blog:

email me at jen.gulbrandsen@gmail.com and I will get you her contact information.  It appears that you live in Midvale, and I'm assuming you want to know more about my friendship with her as you searched for her name on my blog.  Send me your questions and I'll help you out.