Calling All Pageant Girls

A few years back I competed at Miss Utah.  I did okay...nothing too special.  I didn't win or anything.  But I realized that my technique for a few things is a little bit different.  I walk a little differently than the other girls do.  I interview a little differently.  I formulate my paperwork a little differently.  Dare I say it has a little bit more individuality to it?  One time I did all of that, but I did it the way someone else told me to do it.  Miss Utah was not a good experience that year.  The next time around I had a group of individuals who wanted me to discover who I was.  Since that time I've continued progressing in that individuality, and I'm excited to help others find that, too.

It all started with helping girls with their pageant walk.  Then some mock interviews.  Then I judged a little bit.  And then I realized... wait a second.  Why am I judging, and giving critique that will probably be ignored, and doing basically nothing to help these girls in their journey?  My favorite part of pageant involvement was born.

One day I'll formulate an official name, and a title, and a website and all that jazz, but until then, just know that I'm sort of a pageant coach - if that's what you want to call it.  I've helped a few girls here and there, and sometimes it makes sitting through that pageant nearly impossible because I'm so stressed out of my mind, but it's been really rewarding to create bonds with some really remarkable young women.

Because I have a tendency to get a little emotionally attached, I can only take one girl per pageant.  I don't feel comfortable helping multiple girls while editing paperwork, honing interview skills, and making judgments on wardrobing and talent selections.  I want you as a contestant (and possibly even a parent) to know that the advice I am giving you is motivated purely by my untarnished perspective; your information is also safeguarded.

If you're interested in a little help here or there, please feel free to contact me at jen.gulbrandsen@gmail.com.  I'm happy to provide a resume and references.

Not winning Miss Utah was really hard for a while, and it wasn't until a few years ago that I realized how many wonderful things came of my experience in that often harsh world.  There's no question in my mind or heart that being a part of the Miss America Organization has provided me with multiple skill sets that enable my career path and personal growth.  You can take some frustrating and tough things away from pageantry, and I want you to know that my motivation for you will always be to bring out the remarkable talents and strengths you already possess.  In short - I'm not molding you to be me 2.0, but encouraging you to unearth and discover facets of who you are, but perhaps haven't quite found on your own.  Because in the end, a pageant is a pageant, and one person walks away with a metallic rhinestoned crown.  But if you take advantage of what it can offer, you will walk away a stronger and more prepared individual, ready to tackle your future.

boring?

Thought I'd give you a quick update on what is happening in this interesting life of mine (and by interesting, I mean almost entirely the same day in and day out).

1. My resolve to not spend money lasted two weeks.  And then I caved - aided by the pageant I hosted and was involved in.  "But I need to look good on stage!"  Yeah, big mistake.  Back to the no-spend rule.  Best purchase was easily the new Muse album, The 2nd Law.  RUN AND GET IT.

2. Speaking of the pageant, it was MUOT, the one that I actually did win way back when.  I was lucky enough to help a really pretty and awesome girl, and what do you know... she won!  It's going to be so fun to watch her continue to grow and progress.  She is easily the hardest worker I know, so I have no doubt that come August she will be a true contender.  Plus she's just really sweet.

{photo stolen shamelessly from the Missy Teen Utah facebook page, almost assuredly taken by Mr. Chad Braithwaite of Faces Photography}

3. That whole moving thing?  I've decided to postpone it.  Until at least next September.  I'm good with that decision.  Save money and such. 

4. Work is going well.  Sometimes I actually don't suck at my job, and those are nice times.  You can check out the Fashion Place facebook page once a week to see who I've styled and which trends I'm highlighting for the week. 

5. Last, but almost best of all, I leave for the big D-Land in 10 days!  Looooots of this going on!

Mazel Tov!

lullaby.

There's this really amazing girl that I know.  I haven't known her for very long, and there's a lot that I don't fully understand, but there's something about her that is inviting and unique and special.  And it makes me want to beam and protect her and brag and pray that only good things happen in her life.  She has this way of running through life, not running past it - away from the scary things - but running in between each crevice and around each square inch and through all of nature's appendages in order to feel all there is to offer, good and bad.

Don't ask me how I've realized this despite only knowing her for about six or seven weeks. Sometimes we just have senses about people, right?

In so many ways I look at her and I want to see a reflection of my past.  I want to see the immense similarities, and I want to revel in the joy of who I was and who she is and who I am and who she will be.  But instead I see someone so much stronger, and so much happier, and so much more put together in each and every way a young woman can be.  She is kind and intelligent, sweet and talented, funny and beautiful.  She is burdened as we all can be, but she handles it with grace and wit.  I wish I had been like her.  I wish I'd been as capable and able to get through the tough stuff, recognizing that there were greater things at work.  I gave in to the pain and the urges and I slept and slept and slept.  And I ran away from so many things.  She embraces it and sleeps for a few hours, but then wakes up and works and works and works.  And I'm pretty sure she'll always run at everything with all the faith she can muster.

She gets to run at something this weekend, and I have no doubt that she'll jump over each ledge and get up if she stumbles down a little and finish, maybe a little sweaty, but certainly successful.  What's so great about it is knowing that the success doesn't rest upon a win.  Because even though she's almost nine years younger than me, I feel stronger after working with her for the last six weeks.  Knowing that she's going to leave this weekend as a more altruistic and sincere being gives me great hope, not only in the power that the youth have, but in the realization that it's never too late to become a better person.

So thank you, Miss Piano Goddess Extraordinaire for teaching me far more than I've attempted to teach you.  If this is all you've accomplished in six weeks then I am excited to see who you will grow to be.  And even though you need none of it, good luck my dear.

undead instead.

Yesterday morning I woke myself up because I audibly said, "hello" to the person calling me on the phone.  In my dream.  Because - don't worry - this person didn't actually call me.  And then I did it again last night - except the person was calling me, and in my dream I answered and had a full conversation... but in real life no phone answering actually occurred.

[did you follow all of that???]

No one ever believes me when I say I'm a weird sleeper with crazy dreams and sleeping habits.  

When in school I'd have zombie dreams at least once a month - and usually about once a week when I got really stressed.  Those involved running away from something constantly, never being able to quite make it to safety, and watching as the entire world crumbled around me.  I'd have my little hiding place that would be my safety zone for a short time, but then something would force me out of the safety and all happiness was lost.  But I never actually got caught or died in these, which is about as hopeful as a zombie dream can get.

Recently I've been rotating between two different dreams: thousands and thousands of dollars in returns at work or being back at Miss Utah, and I'm not sure which is worse.  The first is always surrounded by a massive sale, which means massive goals, and I'm massively stressed the entire time helping clients and balancing sales and putting things away.  And each time I sell something, that return number just gets higher and higher (in case you were unaware, I work off of commission).  The second dream began occurring about a year ago, just after I was officially finished with the pageanting.  It's always just before a different event at Miss Utah, either swimsuit or evening gown, and I am never ready.  My makeup isn't done, and it usually involves some lack of hair extensions and the scramble to find said hair extensions, and I've never actually ended up going on stage before waking up.  Basically I rotate between these two stressful situations consistently in my REM cycle, and I'm never good enough.

And if the last few days are any indication, it looks like I now have phantom phone calls to add to my dreams that are basically mocking my also not being good enough.

At least in the zombie dreams I managed to stay ahead of the suckers.  Can I have those back?

only the young.

It's becoming a bit of a habit for me to write up a little blurb for my birthday, and let's face it, I love routine and tradition and nostalgia, but while the years before have been a little more humorous, I'm a little more subdued this week.  I'd blame it on old age, but seeing as the only thing I wanted for my birthday was the Bloomsbury Harry Potter set, I don't think that's it.  If anything, on this day upon which I hit that quarter of a century, I feel really young.

Recent events have had me quieter than usual, pondering how everything has come about and what my involvement has been, or in some cases hasn't been.

Yesterday was an exhausting day as I left Provo early in the morning with college friends and roommates to go help our college roommate and friend say goodbye to her beautiful and sweet husband.  His death isn't one I feel comfortable writing about, but I will say that it was tragic and happened far too soon for this world.  I sat marveling at the remembrance of such an extraordinary human being, and then marveled further at my friend's remarkable courage and strength.

I felt a lot of shame, too.  I've not always been the best sort of friend.  I don't always keep in touch, and sometimes I let my selfish desires get in the way, and there are times I'd rather be alone than cultivate those relationships.

It was humbling.

My 25th year was relatively easy.  I found a job that I love, made new relationships that I cherish, and rebuilt the support system that has been so integral to my functioning as a normal human being.  The mistakes I made were a little bit different than those I'd made before - to the extent where I feel as though I actually am beginning to grow up and be an adult.  In a lot of ways I feel as though I've come full circle.  My hopes used to be along the lines of finding a husband and making money and improving my makeup collection and learning how to do new things, and in a lot of ways I still hope for those things (although I don't have any room left for more makeup), but my desires for the year during which I say I'm 25 are different.

I'd like to become the person you can count on.  I want to be someone you can reach out to when you're troubled, or when you need a listening ear.  It means I need to stop talking so much, and I need to stop being so selfish, and I need to be a more charitable human being.  I want you to feel confident in your trust of me - that you know I will always be genuine and real.  I want to be more aware of my surroundings and those within the vicinity, that I can be an emotional force for good in the lives of those who might need it.

Don't you worry.  I'm not entirely just solemn today.  I bought myself new Pilates reformer classes and I got to help a girl for a pageant (and people, she's going to be a force to be reckoned with) and I ate a cupcake and I'm tempted to go take a nap and I get to see my unique and wonderful version of family later tonight.

Because in short, life is good.

c-thru

I confess that it's kind of nice to have someone see through my layers of plastic wrap without any assistance at all.

Some stories to come.

Stay tuned.

how to lose.

Have you heard the new Rush album?  It's pretty amazing.  It's what I was hoping it would be.  It's different than what I imagined.  It's poignant and yet straight forward and even a little sad.  I can't stop listening to The Garden.  I've always loved songs like 2112 and La Villa Strangiato and The Spirit of Radio and their old things, but this is my favorite.  It's got me nostalgic and content and, as it is, a little sad. I would hate to see this be their last album, but if it is, I can see why this is the final song on that final album.  It seems like the right exit, if that's indeed what it is.

Miss Utah was tonight.  I couldn't go last year because I couldn't face everyone and explain all of the reasons why I dropped out of Miss Nevada.  There wasn't a right exit for me, because every time I tried to go back to a state pageant, something got in the way.  I wanted to decide on my own terms, and in some ways I did, but I also wanted something desperately that was never really in my cards.  It's difficult to go back, because you want to think that there's a legacy, but when you have hundreds of former girls and only a couple of winners, you feel a little lost in the crowd and very insignificant.  And when you're remembered as the girl who had a tendency to lose, it's even harder.  There really is nothing quite like losing.

You try your best, or sometimes you don't.  You put yourself out there.  You let everyone critique how you move your arms when you walk and how you laugh on stage and how far into your eyelid you take your eyeliner.  Your toe nails are judged by polish and shape and amount seen in each shoe.  And that's just the audience.  Sometimes you really suck it up.  You turn into someone else, someone you don't recognize, and you let your hopes consume you.  Sometimes you forget your piece and fumble your way through it, making that poor Rachmaninoff a total hot mess.  I'm looking at you, Jen Gulbrandsen - Miss Utah State Fair 2007.  Sometimes you go into the competition with so much pressure on yourself because the expectation to be what you were at seventeen is so great.

And most times you lose.  Well, I did, at least.

Sometimes you do your very best.  Sure, maybe you say something a little dorky in your interview, or you have a little blip in your talent, or you don't walk quite as well as you did the night before, but it's still pretty damn good.  All of those things are proof of your humanity, because you can't always be perfect.  But regardless, you do what you went to do, and you know it was your best, and the audience knows, and hell, a couple of judges might even be right there with you.

And you lose.

No matter what, you seem to just lose.

It sucks.  It sucks because it sticks with you.  You'll always go back and want to be involved, and you'll see that group of former Miss Utah's and you'll feel a little twinge of pain because you're not one of them.  You'll still criticize yourself and your performance from four years ago.  You might even go so far as to wish you had chosen differently.

But that's kind of losing, too.

So to my girls who lost tonight, those who I know, and those who I do not: it sucks.  You'll always carry it with you.  You'll be frustrated and sometimes sad and when you're older and past it, you'll wonder what your life would have been like if that lottery had gone differently and if a judge had ranked you one spot higher.  You'll obsess over what they might have ranked you and you'll be mad and you'll rage and then you'll cry some more, because tears actually do help you feel better.

There's a line in The Garden, that final song off Rush's new album where Geddy Lee sings, The measure of a life is the measure of love and respect...a garden to nurture and protect.


All of these things that I've done, the choices that I've made, and the many times that I've lost have given me empathy and humility and the right kind of pain that I think has made me a better person.  A person who can try her best, perhaps even the very best that could ever be for that person.  A person who has these infinite hopes, and who feels sorrow when it doesn't pan out.  A person who can grieve.  Because a person who can grieve can feel joy, and once you've grieved, you can remember the friendships created in the midst of the sorrow, and suddenly those friendships become loving ones.  And then maybe you can be the person who cultivates such a garden of that lifetime of love and respect that it necessitates protecting.

So feel some sorrow, and eat a cheeseburger, and know that you're your own worst critic, and then feel joy in the person you're growing into.  One with scars and bruises and patches all over her heart, but one who gave everything, and one who tried, and one who walked out of the refinery with fire in her eyes.  Talk about the right exit.

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.

this is how the story went.

This is all coming very late in the game, and it's probably very attention whoreish of me, but seeing as tonight was the grand finale in the roller coaster of what-ifs for me, I figured I'd give you some more of the details.

For some reason I've been really loathe to be honest about how I've felt about people for a long time now.  I've dated a couple of guys since Cameron, some of them pretty seriously, but after that ended I stopped being open about my relationships.  It's already scary enough talking about it with other people; having it visible for the entire world to view on a blog is just a bit much.  Truthfully, I learned my lesson.  Unfortunately I still like expressing my emotions, which has to be really frustrating for the rest of you when I don't give out any specifics.

Another reason for being quiet is respect for those that I've dated.  I'm not a blogging sensation (and hopefully never will be), but I still don't want to be airing dirty laundry or wallowing too publicly.

Now that Miss America is over, I feel like it's probably okay to tell a little bit of a story for you.  Maybe I just need this for closure tonight.  Indulge me...please?

My dad lives in Nevada; has for several years.  My official residency has always been with my dad, wherever he is.  I ran for Miss Henderson in March and won the opportunity to go to Miss Nevada.  I was ecstatic.  If you know me well, then you know that I wanted to be a voice heard at Miss America, because (as my desired profession of a writer dictates) I believe I have something important to say, and I saw Miss America as a way to continue pursuing my dreams.

Everything fell into place.  And it was blissful thinking that I could very possibly - finally - get to Miss America.  There was always a nagging feeling though - one of my parents is a very public person.  And my parents aren't married to each other anymore.  And to put it delicately, things are not always pleasant in that sort of situation.

I will not go into details about my family's involvement in my decision to drop out of Miss Nevada.  My parents have always been supportive of anything that I pursue - pageants included.  I chose my family over a trip to Miss America.  And I gave another girl who wasn't going to be distracted or distraught over what was happening to her family the opportunity to compete at Miss Nevada.

There was something else, too, however.  I fell in love with a guy.

I've never written that down.  At least, not in this sort of open context.  It all happened very quickly - too quickly.  I met him, and became infatuated, and realized that it could be real, and in that true, frightening, and scary as shiiiiiiii sense, fell.  I've never done that before. I've loved three people in my life.   Cameron took time.   The other one I've loved took four years for me to realize I loved him.  But there was this handsome Romney-fanatic who loved Arrested Development and beautiful music and had the most amazing mom I've ever met, and I was a goner.

It absolutely had bearing in my decision, because you see, he was possibly going to be in Boston for a few years.  And I would have been in Nevada.  And things were happening with my family.  And I didn't need more complications in my personal life.  So I made my choice.

I don't regret it.

I've been here for my family at a critical time, especially for my best friend as he's gone through some really painful stuff.  It was the right choice.  And I ended up with a job that I adore.  But the story didn't necessarily have that happy ending, because, as luck would have it, I think this decision scared this Jon Hamm-look-a-like off.  And I still don't really know why he raced away so quickly.  It wasn't the easiest thing I've ever dealt with, but I learned a good lesson.

[insert lesson here]

I could pretend that I'm going to be just fine in hoping that I'll find someone who will love me and all that I bring, and that my life is going to continue along in this perfect trajectory of blissful happiness, and that I'll never have any regrets in my life.  But that's just not me.

I'm really scared.

Cameron's getting married.  Did you know that?  The other boy I loved got married last year.  And I honestly have no idea what almost-Romney boy is doing with his life.

It's so ironic to me that every time I "quit" pageants, I had it in my mind that I was choosing not just good, or better, but best... and then they've all ended up marrying other people and doing other things!  I'm really good at connecting things, and seeing the emotional threads to legitimize my feelings, but I can't here.  I don't know why everything is as it is.  Honestly!  I have no idea.  I want to hope that I can find a relationship, but after years of putting opportunities aside for that whole eternity thing, I don't think I can do it anymore.

There's also this sad realization that I've outgrown pageants, not just because I'm "too old" but because it seems too trivial now.  Sort of feels like I've been thrust into a new coming-of-age moment.

So now you know.  Luckily I have cool people and things in my life to not feel so much like a failure or loser, and I don't regret my decision.

That doesn't change the fact, however, that I'll always think back and remember why I chose the way that I did.  Hopefully the next time a boy finds a way to get me to love him I can do it without being scared I'll lose something else.

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?

prettiest thing I ever did see.

When I was a kid, I was home schooled.  A few of you probably didn't know, and those who didn't know could probably guess - at the very least it helps everything make sense (oh, that's why she's so awkward).  It's because I was the over-programmed child, always singing or dancing or piano-ing or figure skating or babysitting.

Yeah.

Babysitting.

For reals.

Somehow, this amazing family entrusted me with their children when I was eleven.  They basically needed someone to watch their kids each day, and I was cheaper than a nanny, and I didn't have to be in school (honestly, my childhood sort of rocked, now that I think about it), and for nearly three years I watched their children in the mornings while doing my studies, or in the evenings while they were at Yankee games, or even overnight.  I remember their first apartment, their house next to the church building, and then when they rebuilt it.  I still remember the first time my mom told me Sister Humphrey had called looking for someone to watch her youngest son the next day.

That son is now a teenager and tall!  The oldest daughter recently got married!  The middle son is getting ready to serve a mission!  They have like a bajillion more siblings that I don't even know!

Where did the time go?

Five years ago I figured I'd win Miss Utah in a few months, do the Miss America thing, get married, and probably have a kid somewhere around the year 2010/2011.

Yeah.

That didn't happen.

Part of what I love about my job is seeing old friends and acquaintances whom I've not seen for long periods of time - and then boom, suddenly they're right there with shoes or sweaters and instead of working, we reminisce and relive some of those joyful memories.  Truthfully, it can be hard telling them of the failures I've had.  I try really hard to not see certain things as failures.  Being an educated 24-year old with a wonderful career ahead of her isn't anything to be ashamed of, but there are just all of these what-could-have-beens.  So when someone asks about my pageant goals and dating life, and I tell them something along the lines of, "well, after five tries I finally got it in my head that I wasn't going to be Miss Utah County, and I obviously wasn't going to be Miss Utah, and yeah, I ended up being Miss Henderson, but then I actually dropped out of Miss Nevada for Reason-X and Reason-Y and now I've aged out, and nope, sadly he and I didn't get married, and that one got married to a cute girl who is nothing like me, and that other one and I definitely didn't get married, and the first one is now marrying someone else".

.....

It's sort of a lot, right?

It's a lot for me to take in when learning about my friends who have the opportunity to be married and start families.  Because even though I love my job, and I love the idea of always working, and I love providing for myself, I would give anything to be a mom.

I loved babies when I basically was one, and I loved babies when I played with them at church, and I loved babies when I got paid to play with them, and I loved babies when my siblings started having them, and I loved babies all the time and I've never stopped.

Being married, and being a mother, and being on that path is in my future.  I'm sure it is.  I have faith it is.  And I'm happy - whether I need convincing or not... I am happy.  I'm determined to have a positive attitude, especially because I don't understand why I'm on a path that seems so utterly foreign to everything I thought I'd have.  I don't understand why most of the things I dreamt about are now beyond me.  I don't understand why God defined this particular lane of the highway for me.

It's okay.  I don't feel bad about being a little sad tonight, as I look at my friend's sweet families - even with all of the things that I know they endure (as we all must endure), mostly because I do have that faith.

A sweet friend I ran into at work reminded me that it'll make sense when it is supposed to (I'm a writer - I should remember that).  Luckily she also said that I've got a glow... so maybe I am going to be okay.

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!

sooooooooo.

Like I've said, I blog a lot more when I'm sad.  The crappy thing is my last reason for being sad was a little more visible than I would've liked - meaning EVERYONE KNEW ABOUT IT.  So instead of vague references, each little inference became a desperate cry for attention and pity.  LAME.  I'd like to stay mostly private until I release my first memoir in which I name names and tell you which ex liked such and such and all.  Classy, right?

So the logical thing to conclude from all of this is that I am pretty damn happy.  In the rollercoaster ride of Jen's personal happiness level, we're on an upswing.  Much like a few months ago, life is blissful.  Which means something SUCKY is going to happen and happen soon.  So not to worry, friends/foes/exes/SWFs/stalkers/pageant people.  More emo wah wah wah my boyfriend broke up with me wah wah wah my shoes didn't come fast enough wah wah wah George lives far away wah wah wah white girl problems will come around soon enough.

Just to catch you up on the last few months:

1. BLISS.  Bliss included great hair and good taste in entertainment.
2. Bye bye MAO.
3. Bring it on almost dream job (The New Yorker hasn't called.  Yet).
4. BIEBER.
5. Bbbbbbbbbbbye.
6. Blubbering.  For approximately 9 hours.  Haven't blubbered since.  Or anything even remotely close.
7. Bad choices weekend part 1.
8. Bye bye bye.
9. BABY.
10. BAM.

Next up: Bad choices weekend part 2.

Hopefully that's vague enough for my good friend Matt.  Matt, if you'd like some @ mentions in front of each category of my summer, I'd be happy to oblige.  See, he (and presumably many others) finds my open door policy to embarrassing moments of mine being blasted through twitter a bit, well, embarrassing.

Secret: it hurts a little less if I can laugh.

Summer of dreams 2011 isn't always dreamy.  But I'm pretty sure that's because I remember every single dream I have, so they tend to lose a little lustre.  It's okay.  I bought Frye boots, so all is well in Whoville.

days like this.

You know those rubber band balls that are massive?  It's the ultimate tease, because there have to be like 438 rubber bands in there and all you need is ONE, but of course you can't even get one at all because they're strangely interconnected and have somehow grown into one another.  So you're stuck needing a rubber band, probably with a bunch of stuff in your hand, and instead of this wonderful accumulation of rubber bands satiating that need, they just sit there.  Mocking you.  In a spongey ball of staying power.

I've been really terrible at writing over the last couple of months - at least I'm hoping that's why I'm finding it difficult to articulate things well.  I'm usually so much better in writing than in person.  Aside from the obvious computers-have-an-edit-function, I just enjoy the process of typing while also trying to create some sort of art in a sentence a la Hemingway or McCarthy.  But while I have some really cool things to write about, it's just not coming out.

So I guess I'll tell you the story of how, six years later, I've realized that I did indeed answer a pageant question appropriately.

It was the very first question of my Miss America's Outstanding Teen interview, and the head judge in the middle (I honestly can't remember who she was - just that she seemed to HATE me) looked straight at me with this intense fire and challenge in her eyes and said, "Do people like you."

Not a question.

It was a statement.  It was loaded with subtext.  Oozing out subtext that began with your resume makes you look like you're the bragging type and ended with puhlease; there's no way in hell people actually think you're a real person.


So yeah.

"Do people like you no way am I going to let you have the easy interview we gave to the girl we may or may not later crown." [which I know because they released our interviews on DVD]

After that day, I never discounted the value of the random, almost silly pageant question ever again.  It threw me so far off balance and has haunted me ever since.  Thankfully they still liked me enough to give me a talent win and 4th runner up, but I remember performing at Miss America the same year that same woman judged it: GLARES AND CRUSTIES.

Whatever people think of me, this much is true: former Miss Louisiana (I think?) who judged MAOT 05 and Miss A 06 did not, and probably still wouldn't, like me.

About a year or so after that I started dating someone, and well... since this blog is no longer a safe zone (silly me for publicizing it), let's just call him Numero Dos.  ND really knows how to work it with people.  He's got this power of making every single older woman in the room fall in love with him.  He is the ultimate schmoozer.  Whenever people reminisce about him, the comment usually lies along the line of, "Oh yeah...that kid is soooooooooooo friendly with everyone."  He probably should have done summer sales.

So I'm dating ND for a little while now and anytime we go to meet someone in his close, inner circle, I get a lecture.

"Now, be nice."

At some point in our relationship we went to a Twilight movie with some friends and I was proudly mocking because ... well, duh.  The entire time: "Oh my gosh Jen just BE NICE."  We'd walk through BP at Nordstrom and I'd see the New Moon merchandise and I'd groan and I'd get, "Jen, some people like it.  Just BE NICE."

A common theme during our relationship: "just because you don't like Twilight doesn't mean it's actually bad.  A lot of people like it so it obviously has to be okay!"

Yeah, I don't know why I let myself be with someone who felt that way about that sort of monstrosity.  Live and learn, I guess.

Anyway, I'm making light of it, but this really screwed with my head.  This guy that I am crazy in love with doesn't think I'm a nice person because I can be a little shy sometimes and I am opinionated.  It was around this time that I stopped telling people what I thought.  He probably didn't mean to do this (in fact, I'm sure he didn't - for the record, Numero Dos is a really great person), but I lost a lot of confidence in my ability to make friends, be a friend, make conversation, and have opinions on even the most mundane things.  What if I didn't please everybody?  What if someone had a problem with my conflicting political leanings?  What if she found out that I drink Dr. Pepper, and therefore am imbibing of a substance she deems inappropriate?

I mean... that's just not very nice, is it?

(I'll bet his mom STILL doesn't know that he drinks caffeinated sodas.)

It became this weird West Coast - East Coast thing.  Apparently everyone thinks they're better when they're from the East Coast and West Coast kids get all bent out of shape about it.  And apparently because I really loved growing up in New Canaan, CT, I'm a snot who thinks she's better than everyone west of Pennsylvania.

Seriously, kids.  We broke up and I thought I was a grade -A beeyotch (which, by the way, is a word I detest, but I'm censoring myself tonight) because I didn't automatically feel comfortable in uncomfortable situations.  Not only did he not want to marry me, but I wasn't nice, and people didn't like me, and I wasn't ever going to find someone ever again, and basically my life was over.  Wah wah wah.

Waaaaaay back in Orlando, in that conference room for my interview I got my first question, and after blinking, asking her to clarify, and getting a, "No.  Really.  Do they like you," I responded somewhere between Boy-I-Sure-Hope-So and Yes-I'm-Pretty-Sure-My-Friends-Like-Me.

Yesterday at work I ran to grab some Spanx for a girl who was in such a rush she was trying the dress on over her clothes on the sales floor.  While ringing her up she asked about the Early Access we provide for the big sale that's coming up, and asked if I could take her through more departments than just the one that I work in.  When I told her that, of course I can [interruption for a sales message: text me if you want to do this], she told me about how she saves up for this every year, and then does it with her friend who works in the store.  Except her friend doesn't work there anymore.  And then she says, "But you're the nicest person I've met here, so could I come shop with you?"

Today at work I'm putting away shirts on hangers while telling one of our cashiers how much I love working with this girl Heidi, and she says, "You know - you and Heidi totally remind me of each other.  When I met you this morning, that was the first thing I thought.  You both are just so happy-go-lucky and have such an awesome vibe about you!"

SUCK IT NUMERO DOS.

proof.

Last week I was helping a couple of women look for some tops for their excursion to Vegas.  Because I enjoy interacting with people on a closer level, I started opening up about my ties to Nevada.  Somehow I started going in depth about how I recently gave up the opportunity to compete at Miss Nevada because of some really difficult circumstances placed before me (because this is the sort of thing you discuss with perfect strangers who just want good tank tops for their pool visits).  When I was finished, one of the ladies looked into me and said, "Good for you for making the hard decision."

Maybe it's silly, but that experience will never leave my memory.  Of course she didn't know intimate details (few of you do) and of course she didn't know my story (a few of you wish you didn't) and of course she didn't know the desires of my heart (a few of you wish that I actually knew), but she recognized the painful choice placed before me and she recognized the strength it took to actually make that choice.

Friends, I can't tell you everything.  I just can't.  I wish I could.  I wish I could transcribe my pretty, blue leather journal into this impersonal, white blogger box.  I wish I could let you see all of the complications and the paradoxes and the tearing that happens inside my mind.  There are so many things that I don't know, that I try to work out, and that I probably choose wrong.  And of course I've placed myself in a visible position through twitter, and blogger, and facebook, and Al Gore's lovely invention - so you tend to see the end result of what has been a severely intense process.

Things have been a little rough recently.  One of the people who means more to me than the English language is capable of expressing recently stated that our friendship was too exhausting to continue.  Is that how I am?  Am I too exhausting for all of you?  I thought friendship meant carrying each other during those extremely tough times and jumping in puddles together whenever you can.  Unfortunately this friendship ended at the same time that I lost something else, so add in the fact that this is a weird week for me to be experiencing and I am just trapped in a glass case of emotion.

A lot of people like this idea of living life without regrets.  It's a pretty idea, filled with recklessness and drive and ambition.  It's also impossible.  I felt regret by the time I was thirteen years old; no way am I going to get through the rest of my existence without even a twinge of what might have been.  To say that I won't regret never having the chance to compete at Miss America is to lie, and to lie badly.  I did want it, and I do want it right now at 12:38 a.m., and I'll always wish I had had it.  But when the circumstances keep you from living that particular dream, there's not much you can do.

Luckily I have other dreams.  I'm not just a one trick pony.  I adore my job, and I'm praying that one day I will be a published author, and I have a beautiful future in front of me, even if I have no idea who is actually in it besides Erika and my family.

A few years ago I dropped out of a pageant because I needed to know the answer to a lingering question.  The answer came and the answer burned.  That single decision still affects me and always will, but if I hadn't made it then that unhappy situation would have been a perpetual part of my limbo life.  This is what I've learned in 24 years: most choices bring some measure of pain.  Choosing to leave a lifestyle for a better one can be painful, even if you know to your core it's the right choice.  Choosing to leave a person can be nearly impossible, especially if you know it's the right choice.  Choosing to leave a path can bring regret.  But those granules of pain almost assuredly lead to the joy that results from following the whisperings God can provide.

So if you're asking me face to face, no I'm not really okay.  I had to be a grown up when I was thirteen years old, and it's been an exhausting ten years of often losing my short term desires because of circumstance or unique situation.  But as I realized at dinner with my friend Emily, I am actually happy.  Despite the constant need for a prayer to get through each day... or wait a second, maybe it's because of that.

No pity my way, please - I've got a job and a great house to live in and wonderful friends and beautiful nieces and nephews and parents who care and the confirmation that I'm a daughter of God who is important, even if she doesn't always feel wanted by those on Earth.

Good luck to the girls competing at Miss Nevada this week.  Maybe in another lifetime :)

And love and prayers to those of you who need an extra lift.  We're fighting together, remember?  Even if we can't actually interact together anymore, know that I still love and care for you - probably always will.

muah.

for dad.

in 10 words or less?

because it's the right thing to do.

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.

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Here's the thing.  As much as I want to whine and cry at 2:30 in the morning because sometimes people are MEAN and life is MEAN and wah wah wah...

At least my street is still intact and hasn't been destroyed by copious amounts of salt water.

I'm going to get back to this whole living dangerously thing.