true update.

hey there kids - I meant to do this a few days ago, but work and life have been stressful and so instead of writing I've been eating my feelings and I promise that I'm going to go to my pilates class that's in 6 hours.

BUT.

Cool things are happening!

1. I'm officially a ghost writer!  Someone wants me to write as if I were a teenager!  It's awesome!  Really though - it is.  I'm writing for a local (to Utah) organization called Utah's Teen Icon, started by fellow pageant alumni (alumna?  female form anyone?) Stacie Kingdon.  I get to write using the voices of several different girls, which is an interesting combination of fiction and nonfiction.  You might remember that I absolutely positively hate loathe suck at writing fiction.  This is a good compromise, because a lot of these things are based on my experience, or experience of those I know, and they're still technically "essays"... even if they're not MY essays.  It's been such a fun thing to do, and I can't wait to continue.  Clicky clicky for my first ever entry.  It's just a tad fitting.  I mean, I'm currently listening to Taylor Swift, and I'm still angsty, and sometimes I still wish I were a teenager, so really I'm just getting out my potential for living through a theoretical child.  [yeah.  that sentence makes no sense.  oh well.]  Oh, and I'm pretty sure Taylor Lautner was in my dream last night - which also makes no sense because I'm purely a Vampire Diaries girl.

2. I'm also the ambassador for the Fashion Place Personal Stylists to the wonderful world of Pinterest and Polyvore.  I've basically been doing this sort of thing for quite some time, but now I get to put my employer's name next to it.

Polyvore
Twitter
Pinterest 
Facebook

Confused by all the different names for each social medium?  Yeah, me too.  My real reason for linking to them here is so that I can actually find them tomorrow, because I'm sure I'll forget where they are.

They're fresh, and seem a little sparse - but trust me when I say those boards so far are a result of about three hours of work.  Not that it takes me that long to put outfits together, but it does take me that long to upload a bajillion pieces from Nordstrom.com to polyvore.  And then I realized that a lot of it wouldn't necessarily work how I want it to, so I had to head back and find unique pieces for each look.  It's going to be especially fun because this is sort of my way of fashion blogging (we all know how much I hate that - unless it's going to involve a blog that might feature my favorite J. Oliver in the potential future) without actually fashion blogging.  It also gives me an opportunity to be even stronger with my job.

Finally, it is a little peek into what working with a stylist is like.  I do all the work for you.  You just sit there and try it on and then go look fabulous while you receive four thousand compliments about how that "entire look is just so perfect".  and everything I know I learned from Tina Christensen, Cindy Speters, Amy Wolf, and Whitney Tanner.  But really... this is what my life is: researching for hours outside of work, knowing trends, learning terms that you learn in design school, and then interpreting it for you.

So check it out!  Like it!  Re-pin!  Tell your friends!  I have to report back to my boss and my boss' boss and probably her boss too!  Please!  only slight desperation here folks.



3. April 19th.  The day of happiness.  The day my life changes.  Kind of.  Wait, you want to know what it is?  Eh, you're going to have to wait for that until after the commercial.

there's not much more I can say.

My kind of Mormon you are:  a wonderful bundle of contradictions, held together by an inexplicable force we call faith.


-joanna brooks

late night. again.

why do I feel most inspired in the middle of the night.  WHY??????

a little reminder for you.

just in case.

I'm not the girl I was last April.

It's not gonna happen that way.

I like being in control.

Good luck.

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?!

futurism.

It has been a rough week.  I've been working through some serious pain (not emotional or existential, but real, physical, searing pain) and thankfully my manager let me have today to rest.  It's given me an opportunity to regroup and gather a few things together for the exciting events in the coming weeks.

It also gave me a chance to binge on George Clooney with The Descendants and The Ides of March.  Ryan Gosling is sort of a perfect specimen, you know?  But it reminded me that I'm lucky.  My upbringing was really wonderful, but some not-so-wonderful things happened, which grounded me in reality.  At this point in my life I would be one of two things: jaded or idealistic.  Somehow I'm neither.  

My mother is a politician.  She desperately wants me to work in politics, for whatever inane reason it may be.  Remember that one time I worked on a campaign?  It was tough for me.  It was good to have a job, and something to put on a resume, and there is nothing negative I can say about the individuals involved, but I hate politics.  Everyone begins in this idealistic dream state of hope and change and reform and realignment, and then people are people and each idealistic fool realizes that no matter what they want or try for, human beings are fallible.  Which is where those idealists become jaded political staffers.

I wouldn't be good at it because I've never been an idealist in the way so many my age are, at least amongst those who believe that we can change the world SOMEHOW.  See, a lot of them put their hope in another person who seems to be able to lead more effectively or speak more coherently or inspire more profoundly.  They hope that this person, whose ideology is gorgeous and packaged perfectly, will bring about the reform that will end poverty and enable education and encourage peace.  They hope that this time will be different, and that no matter what, this beacon of integrity will remain true.

Unfortunately it does change.  Every single time.  I've seen it happen in my family members who have been given an office or sought an office.  I've seen it in individuals I've voted for.  I've seen it in individuals I thought were golden.  There's a reason we complain about politics in the workplace or in schooling: politics is a game and by virtue of competing in the political arena, you have to play.

So no, I'll never be able to be in politics, whether behind the scenes or in front of a camera, because I'd rather not pretend that I'm always going to make all of the right decisions and do right by you.

I put my faith and trust in a God who allows us the opportunity to repent and change our behavior, because He is merciful and kind.  I also put my faith and trust in the hope that we as a human race can change, not by a political mandate or an individual by whom we can rally, but by human interaction, and by love, and by refusing to let a system run this show.

I believe in God, and I believe in classical music, and I believe in 5 inch heels.  And I believe in the power of the pen and the influence a piece of writing can have on a person.  So while some will get caught up in the rhetoric of a promise for political reform, I'm going to do my very best to help enable young people to find confidence and hope within themselves, a self-worth instilled by a loving God.  No promises - just an honest effort to help someone who may feel lost as I once did, and to remind them that the most important thing is to do what I describe as being like Jesus: loving and forgiving and bridging the gaps built and erected by politicians through human empathy.

Jeez, Ryan Gosling.  Look what you and that smirk inspired.

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.

on the floor, wearing your clothes.

private journal time peeps.

I'll be back.

When I figure things out.

Which might take a while, because sometimes people can get in your head and change everything.

Until then, stay excellent.

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.

whhhheeeeeee.

I shouldn't be allowed near heavy machinery right now.  Or a computer.  Because let's face it: the stuff I'm saying is probably going to last FOREVER in the internets and this NyQuil is AWESOME.

.

Read a piece that I wrote last year for a class and as I'm sitting here listening to some Kid A, all I can think is... how can I not do this?

Time to start writing again.  But I don't think I'm ready for any of you to see it.  I think I've passed the moments where I can just whip up little things that are a little trite but also a little tender in this blank box, only to press publish post thirty minutes later.

I'll let you see the real things when I'm ready.

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!

boom sha-clack clack.

Happy V-Day everyone.  Hope yours has been a blast.  There are two important days in February, the fifth, which is apparently the day that EVERYONE decided to pop out babies (but most importantly my love Whitney - and maybe even some former loves) and the fourteenth.  Not because of any sort of romantic whim or sentiment, because let's face it, the sweetest thing to happen to me on Valentine's Day has always come from my father..although Amy did give me a cartoon valentine today at work.  Close second.  [side note: favorite valentine memory comes from Junior year of high school.  maybe another time.]

Right, why February 14th is neat to me.  Because I've decided to start my own tradition.  It very possibly could have something to do with love or with pink or with chocolate or with candy confections that have slightly sinister sayings on them.  It also very possibly could have something to do with hate and brown and carrots and stupid M&Ms handed out at weddings as favors.

Go with me.  I'm getting there.

Last year at this time I was in a creative writing class that pushed me a little bit and gave me wonderful excuses and deadlines and oh my gosh I MISS IT.  I was reading essays and writing essays and pretending to write fiction and poetry and terrible haiku and pissing off some kid in the class who didn't like me (but I'm sorry, he just used SO MANY ADJECTIVES EVERY TIME).  It was so grand.  And last valentine's day I sat on my bed while Whitney sat on hers and I read her my new favorite essay about love and marriage and she looked at me as though I were completely insane and oh.  It was wonderful.

So while beaus come and go, my one true love remains and lasts and I love it almost as much as I love my Michael Kors handbag.

The essay.

Sometimes I forget how much I love it.  Sometimes I forget to read it.  Sometimes I forget to write it.  Most times I just prefer watching Dance Moms or Gossip Girl or making monies.  But it seems fitting that on a day when many of your beaus try to convince you to fall in love with them all over again, I remind myself why I love a simple piece of nonfiction so much.

So tonight, I give you another favorite to read.  This isn't so much about love as it is about what we can do for others, mostly just in being more considerate.  Besides, I just googled a song that I liked a lot and found out that it was on the Breaking Dawn soundtrack, so I now need to go bleach my ears with some wit.  Who better to do it than the master of the essay, Mr. Mark Twain?

I love you, and chances are I love some of you quite a bit, but let me tell you... the essay is seriously loyal and loving and never fails to give me a warmth that reminds me I can do this thing we call life.

"Hygiene and sentiment"

get thee hence.

to MAC.  Preferably at Nordstrom Fashion Place.  You should call me ahead of time.

But really.

Get there.

And get the latest line, Shop MAC.  It's a little cheesy and gimmicky and wonderful.  And it has the most perfect red I have ever worn.  Ever.  Seriously... you need to try it!

my point.

Something's been bugging me for the last day and a half.  Perhaps you heard that a girl in Provo was running along the Provo river trail, and was attacked, and sexually assaulted.  You probably also saw stuff being passed around like wildfire on facebook, "Girls - don't run alone!"  "This is why you don't run at night!"  "Women - please be smart!"

I didn't plan on this turning into a long treatise, but I have a feeling it's going to.  And the few people it's pointed at will probably whine about Jen Gulbrandsen and her feminist idealism and blah blah blah be glad you're out of that blah blah blah bob law blah.  And that's fine.  I expect them to.  And I also expect a text from someone in the morning saying something along the lines of, "why do you even care what certain people think or say?"

Tonight I care because people get raped every day.

By people they don't know.  By a date.  By a spouse.  By a parent.  By a friend.  By a colleague.  By a mentor.  By a teacher.  By a boss.  By a random stranger.

I mean, this happens on a consistent basis and the best we can come up with is "be safe" or "be smart".

Pretty sure women who are safe and smart are raped ALL THE TIME.

Yes, we do need to be safe and we do need to be smart, but how about we start changing how our society views rape, shall we?  How about we start teaching boys to respect girls from an early age?  How about we remind men that women are not objects?  How about we stop telling this girl what she did wrong by running late at night by herself (something she's surely heard a million times by now) and instead focus on what we can do to eliminate this?

I have an idea - why don't we stop deluding ourselves into believing that a little post on facebook or a message board or twitter or anywhere on the interwebs about being "careful" will actually have any measure of change in our world.

My name is Jen Gulbrandsen, and I'm really pissed off.

it's 4:30 in the morning

and I can't sleep.  Probably because my body is completely out of whack.  7:30 is going to come REALLY fast.

Just wanted to say that I'm really lucky.  I love the time that I get to spend with my dad every day, mostly because he cracks me up.  Tonight (last night?) we went to the Distribution Center, which is most certainly the first time I ever went shopping for undergarments with my father, then a dinner date, followed by some intermittent chats.  Two things discovered: he doesn't want me to settle for any less than someone who loves my ambition or someone who pushes me when I need it, and he wants to die peacefully at 95 years old seeing how fast his car can go.

I seriously love my papa.

He didn't say this tonight - rather he said it quite a few years ago when I guess I was in the process of maybe possibly marrying someone, but he told me that under no circumstances should my hopeful-husband-to-be ask him for permission to marry me.  As Papa Gulbrandsen says, "how demeaning to act as though my daughter is my property and can't choose for herself."  And then tonight he did say that when I finally (enough finally's for you?) do get married, it will be the saddest day and the happiest day of his life.

He raised me to be strong and independent and loving and nurturing and the right sort of needy.  In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm just a lot like he is.

Boy oh boy, what a Daddy's Girl am I.

tales.

Sometimes after work I get really sleepy, and that gigantic bed that I have seems too inviting, and my junk drawer and never-ending supply of DP in the garage fridge provide adequate sustenance, and the computer and big screen on the wall keep me entertained... and I pass out.  At 8 pm.  Only to awake around 2 am with my contacts in and my clothing all on and makeup smears on the pillow and drool everywhere.

Yes, it's gross.  But when sleep happens, drool happens.  It is what it is.  

That is sort of what happened tonight.  But it was more along the lines of taking 6 ibuprofen so the pains in my tummy would go away, and sans food or drink, although I did watch an episode of PR: Allstars, in which Austin Scarlett was glorious.  Unfortunately I wasn't feeling so hot tonight, so Miss Amy (this amazing woman with whom I work who has also quickly become one of my dearest friends) and I couldn't go to the symphony.  She was supposed to be my date, but I had to bail, and now I'm a little sad about it.

This has very little purpose.

I've eaten too many fruit snacks to think or write coherently anymore.

Today one of our co-workers commented that I'm going to end up going off to some big city really soon and do amazing things.  I sure hope so.

But I'm going to love life while I'm here.  My friends, and my family, and my dog who snores so much I don't get any sleep, and my job, and my love for all things fattening create a pretty wonderful existence that I'm extraordinarily lucky to have.  So thanks for being a part of it.  You're all pretty neat and make my life a whole lot neater.

Neat!

gone away.

my feel for you boy is decaying in front of me like the carrion of a murdered prey.  and all I want is to save you honey, or the strength to walk away.

obsession confession

Most days I find myself enamored with trends and disenchanted by others.  Sometimes I give in right away (a structured blazer - such a great investment) and am happily rewarded.  Most times I have to wait and recognize how long I can utilize a trendy piece.

But I don't know if I can wait much longer.

And I'm a little embarrassed to admit what it is... but I want a jumpsuit.

More specifically, I want this jumpsuit.

Paired with my linen blazer and tan espadrilles.

I CAN'T HELP IT.