a blog post about nothing at all

Do you ever stop to freeze-frame your life for a second, and just think "how did I get here?" How? I moved to Provo a little over a year ago. At the time, it seemed perfect, right, beautiful, etc. I figured exciting things were in store. And they were--but God's definition of "exciting" is different than mine. Which is probably good, I mean, words are weak. That postmodern lit class I took my senior year really gets in the way of my conversating sometimes (nope, conversating is not a word). ANY. Way. I had no idea what was coming. I think if I had, I would have slammed on the brakes a little. I probably would've wimped out.

Guys, I'm a wimp. I cry a lot (which I'm trying to fix, with drugs actually, because yes it is possible for one to cry too much). I get teary when I look at certain pieces of art, or when it rains after 3 o'clock in the afternoon and the sun is hitting the sheets of rain just right as they're coming down and all of a sudden I'm a kid again. I cry when I see baby pictures of my siblings (always and forever I will do this, medication or no medication). I cry when I'm alone and the crushing weight of everything I love/haven't done/have lost falls down on me like an avalanche. Wait, did she just say she has depression?? Or... What! You mean that d-word? Yeah, depression. The past 400 days have been the equivalent of like 50 hours in the testing center. 50 hours straight. With no. Bathroom. Breaks. When I moved to Provo, everything was going great. I could see my future all nice and shiny in the distance. Word to you and your mother: if you can see your future,  #1, you have a problem right there and I think you might be an alien and #2, if it's bright and shiny, I'm sorry, but you need to put your sunglasses on.

Perspective. I didn't know what it was like to have my testimony tested until this last year. I didn't know how it felt to have my faith shaken, to the point when I didn't feel like praying anymore because I didn't think anyone was listening. I never thought I would go through that. I didn't want to get out of bed for three months straight. I had to pray for help to get up. A couple of weeks ago, a girl bore her testimony in church and it was very simple, but it struck me as the most beautiful testimony I'd ever heard. She said, "I just want to say how grateful I am for Jesus Christ, who helped me get up this morning." I knew what she meant.

I guess the reason I'm writing this is because I know there are lots of you who read this who may be experiencing something similar, or have experienced it, or will. Everyone's faith will be tested, and not just once. If Heavenly Father is truly our Father and loves us more than we can fully comprehend, then we will all be tested. That is a fact. But this, this is also true:

❝

Behold, what manner of love is this, that Christ should be arraigned and we adorned, that the curse should be laid on His head and the crown set on ours.

— Thomas Watson

I need you (whoever you are) to know that Heavenly Father does love us, and He's always there. Even--and especially--when you feel completely alone, you are not. Please don't forget that. There will be difficulties and trials and things you don't think you can handle. And maybe that's the thing, you see--you can't handle it, but with Christ you can. I don't know how to say it eloquently. I only know how to say it simply. All of this pain, okay, yes, it hurts. It hurts! There were prayers I uttered in the last year that said simply that--"It hurts. It hurts. Please help. Make it stop hurting."

The Savior heals without a scar. Trust Him to calm your storms. Please don't give up.

p.s. Yes I cried while I wrote this. What of it? I could sell Kleenex to a tree (I don't think the metaphor worked just then). 

of hummus and goldfish crackers (and togas, what else)

Fact.

So, funny story. A little over a week ago I was in Mexico. Yeah, that country RIGHT BELOW us! The story of how I ended up in Mexico is one of pure happenstance, but most spontaneous things I do are like that. A month ago I didn't think my Thanksgiving would consist of

a) chasing dogs down a dirt road in Mexico
b) picking up strange Mexican children off the street in Mexico (and offering them licorice. Okay this is sounding worse and worse as I type it. HE WAS GIVING US DIRECTIONS)
c) changing a busted tire on the side of the road in the dark in Mexico
d) eating turkey on the beach
e) introducing goldfish crackers to the Mexican people (they loved them, duh)

Here is my tip for driving in Mexico:

Sorry for the lack of apostrophe. I didn't make that image because who has time to make the pictures for their blog???? Definitely not this human (*points to self*).

We did so many cool projects. My eyes were opened nice and wide to the poverty which most of the world lives in. The sad part is that these people don't really know what they're missing out on. Maybe that's better, I don't know. But it would be so frustrating to live in a Mexican resort town in a shanty village and to see the fancy hotels down the road. The hardest/most fulfilling part for me was giving away our leftover food to the homeless. This was the food that probably most Americans would waste (brown bananas, stale rolls, etc), but they were so, so grateful for it. In fact, the kids were clamoring for the manzanas (apples) like they were grilled cheese. It broke my heart but also filled it up at the same time. To see true gratitude on Thanksgiving was the best way I could've spent that holiday.

Also, did you know that traveling for 30-something hours with perfect strangers will either make them your BFF or your worst enemy? DID YOU?! Everyone knows that when you're dating someone who you think is the one, there are one of two tests you can perform: the long hike test and the long road trip test. Both must be long, so you can see a) what their taste in music is like b) how they act after being trapped in a confined space for a long time or c) how they act after physical exertion and no sleep (long hike test, waddup). Also, you get to see them with pretty much no makeup/no shower/no change of clothes ever. #marriage or #breakup ???

My Christmas wish is to go on a road trip with someone who has the exact same taste in music as I do. PLZ BLESS, SANTA. PLZ BLESS.

I'll be real widchu, pretty much errybody on this trip became my BFF. Kenzie was already my Bacon And Eggs, but I think the real hero of this trip was Skylar SomeCoolMiddleName Call. Ps Skylar what's your middle name..? I know everybody on the trip knows my middle name now, because Alejandro insisted on calling me by that name instead of my first name because Kenzie has the same name and calling us by numbers was too easy. 

And now this post shall turn into Shiz Skylar Says: (heheh you didn't know I wrote it all down did you)

"Oh...he just a got a picture of my butt. Good thing I accentuated it."

Me: Skylar why are you looking at us through the seat hole.

Skylar: You can do anything with a beard and it's weird.

Kenzie: So, it's 3 o'clock, we're driving to Arizona, and your dream girl calls you up and says she wants to get married tonight, but it has to go down before midnight. Who is it? What do you do? What will everyone wear?

Skylar: Well, obviously it would be Nicole Margarine (name has been changed to protect the innocent). And Morgan Freeman would officiate the wedding.

Kenz: Do you know Morgan Freeman? How do you have the hookups?

Skylar: {ignores question} Oh yeah and Bill Murray HAS to be at my wedding. He shows up at people's weddings all the time.

Kenz: What! But how do you know these guys?

Skylar: BILL MURRAY IS COMING TO MY WEDDING.

Kenz: Okay, okay and what about Nicole? What's she gonna wear?

Skylar: Well, she'd wear a toga, because togas look good on everybody.

Everyone in the car: ......

Skylar: And she'd wear one of those Caesar rings on her head, you know with the flowers? And her dress would have the interwoven stringy things. And I want twizzles in her hair.

Kenz: Twizzles?

Me: You mean like crimped hair?

Skylar: Twizzles.

#twizzles

Skylar: And we'd go to a private island on a boat. And we'd have a private skipper.

Me: What's a private skipper?

Skylar: Just an exclusive captiain of our ship. And he'd take us to an island, probably around Seattle. And THERE WOULD BE HORSES. Everyone has to be on a horse.

Me: Including Morgan Freeman.

Skylar. Yes.

Kenz: Who would the photographer be?

Skylar: Oh we'd just wear GoPros on our foreheads.

Kenz: I'd be pissed if my husband did that.

Skylar, in the car randomly one day: My mom won't let me go running on the mountain because she thinks people will think I'm a crazy person and I'll get shot.

Me: It's your beard.

Kenz: Want some hummus?

Skylar: Maybe a little.... {pause} Heheh yeah right (A PERFECT SUMMARY OF SKYLAR, YO)

Skylar: I was born on Harriet Tubman's birthday.

Me: Did you know that Harriet Tubman is E.T.'s doppelganger?

Robbie: Doppel-what?!

*everybody having a deep discussion about something in the car*

Skylar interrupts with: Ooh, that is an old wall.

Maybe all of these are pointless to you who do not know Skylar, but now you'll want to know him. And that definitely was not really the point of this post. 

Happy THANKSGIVINGZZZZZ. 

 

post-flat tire incident

probably my favorite picture from the whoooole trip.

The view.

Putting in insulation=ITCHY ALL UP IN EVERY CREVICE, YO

"Don't they have sand in Alabama?!" 

google translate it. or don't, I'm not the boss of you.

is that cornbread I smell? I think I smell cornbread...

I don't even know. You don't even know. 

I have this thing I do, and it’s called “Naming My Autobiography In Everyday Conversation.” I also like to make everything into the title of any sort of book. It’s a pretty annoying habit, but it can be entertaining when the timing is right. For example, just now my roommate had a boy over (not unusual biznat). So I reintroduced myself to this boy, who in this story we will call Dave. You see, Dave and I had met before, but he didn't remember.

I’ve discovered that since being on the yearbook staff in high school, I have been cursed with a sore cursing. I remember everyone and nobody remembers me. If you do remember who I am, it’s only because I did something embarrassing or said something embarrassing to you which made you feel embarrassed for me, and now that feeling of humiliation has been stamped on your brain forever. “Oh look at that poor blogger who once bled all over her pants and then her tween-crush saw her in that awful state, oh the poor, poor blogger lady.” See what I mean?

So the point is, I said to Dave, “Hi Dave. We’ve met before.”

Dave: “We have?”

Me: “Yes.” (isn’t this riveting)

Dave: “Are you the couch girl?”

Me: ‘I’m sorry?”

Dave: “You’re the girl that was on the couch that one time.”

Me: ????????????? (pretending like I don’t remember but if anybody deserves the title “Couch Girl” it’s probably me, and I guarantee you I wasn’t wearing a bra that time either)

Dave: “I’m pretty sure it was you.”

Oh great, I’m thinking. He only remembers me as couch girl. The girl who is constantly invalid and probably has to have her fruits and veggies blended up to the consistency of Gerber baby paste and fed through a tube while she watches Office reruns through her thick bifocals because her sight has gotten terrible because she never looks at anything besides a computer screen because she is COUCH GIRL. 

So I said the only thing I could think of in that moment which was, “Yeah. It’s me, ‘The Girl Who Was On The Couch That One Time: An Autobiography.” He looked perplexed. I finished tying my shoes and walked away. 

I have been naming my autobiography for the past year. And now you can too. Simply chime in with “An Autobiography: By Me” anytime someone says a phrase that you feel personifies your life. 

To help get you started, I’ve compiled a short(?) list of my current ideas. The list keeps growing. help. I’M ONLY 24. When I’m 80 it’ll probably say stuff like “I Went On Thunder Mountain and Peed A Little” but it will still be true.  Just different, is all.

p.s. all of these are straight-up excerpts from my journal circa 2014. I just capitalized the words and made them into book titles. SHA-BOOM.

• I Used My Roomate's Razor Because I Left Mine in My Room & Now My Legs Are Itchy Do You Think This is Karma Rash?
• On A Scale from One to Making a Mixed Tape How Serious Is This Relationship?
• I'm Pretty Interested In Eating A Lot of Bread
• I Should Probably Do It But I Really Don't Want To
• I Burned My Mouth On A Hot Roll Because I Was So Hungry, Not Because I'm Hardcore
• Work, Cry, Bike, Food, Cry Some Mo' (the entire journal entry was this sentence. NO CHISME)
• I Took A Nap at 10:30pm #WishIWasJoking
• The Ratio of Dark Chocolate Covered Pretzels I Have Eaten to Number of Tears I Have Cried is DIRECTLY Related. What A Dumb Sentence.
• Life Would Be So Much Easier If I Was a Raccoon Who Dropped Smooth Jazz Albums For A Living <-- this is gonna become a doodle. mark my wordzz

I'm on a horse. ...or is that a donkey..??? gUYS WHAT are AnimaLS EVen

maybe if you're a guy maybe you shouldn't read this (but maybe you should)

here is a picture of me being uncomfortable and wearing a jacket around my waist (this will be important later in the story)

I was taught from a young age that we must keep journals. We absolutely must keep a charming (but not too wordy) record of our lives for our posterity! To 8 year old me, that advice apparently translated to “You must write every single day of your life about the upcoming talent show.” I, for one, can’t imagine my future children wanting to read anything else about my childhood besides the Minuet in D. Reading those entries now is a big joke, because my childhood was just about the most hilarious mini-series that nobody ever knew they needed on their local cable network. This essay is simply me doing my future self a solid, since it’s likely I’ll get Alzheimer’s and may not remember the day in 1996 when Danny Woodruff jumped from the third tier of our treehouse and landed on his feet like some kind of feral cat (and then ten years later he was the star quarterback and it just felt like poetic justice). 

If you are a girl and have been to a sleepover (I mean…if you are a girl you have most certainly been to a sleepover), then you undoubtedly have played the “Truth or Dare” game (or some sick derivative like “Truth or Truth,” which should just be called “A Confession Session,” and should be saved for church). You have probably also been exposed to the painfully loaded question, “What’s your most embarrassing moment?” As if simply being 14 years old wasn’t embarrassing enough, now you have to pin down just one singular moment? Well, I had one that I have since filed under “Things I Hope Never Happen to Even My Worst Enemies, And That Includes the Guy in the Library Who Tripped Over My Power Cord, Almost Destroying My Computer, and Then Winked At Me.” Of course, this particular moment could not possibly happen to that guy or any guy for that matter because yes, it had to do with the omnipresent sloughing of my uterus, or as one friend has crudely named it, my “per-per.” I know.

Now, before we delve into this, you should know that I had already had a few really awful moments surrounding my period. But the last one took the cake. Took the cake and shoved it in its mouth (cuz that's what a period would do if a period was a person). 

Exhibit A: The day I started, I was at my grandmother’s house and my two friends were with me. We were having a sleepover (what else). I woke up in the middle of the night thinking I had been murdered. My grandma stumbled bleary-eyed from her bed and handed me what looked and felt like a small diaper. I’m sure the look of confusion on my face resembled that of a possum before it gets hit by an oncoming car. “I’m supposed to put this where?!?!?” (I’m ignoring my excess punctuation rule for this story because you would use that many question marks and exclamation points too, if your grandma was telling you, a 12 year old girl, to put on a mini-diaper). I later threw up in a bucket from the garage, screamed at the sight of my own blood, and my father gingerly patted me on the back while simply saying “It’s all a part of growing up.”

Exhibit B: The first day I had to go to school while I was on my period (the horror!), I begged my mom to let me stay at home. She looked at me like I had just asked her if I could give up my pubescent lifestyle and start dealing cocaine on the streets with a band of dwarves. In other words, she said no. When I got to class I was still trying to calculate when I would need to use the bathroom next. Panic-stricken, I decided to go during the 6-minute lapse between English and Social Studies. Mrs. Baum, my mustachioed teacher, wouldn’t notice if I was late, right? Mrs. Baum was most often horizontal, on her couch, because she had back problems. It was a special treat being taught Egyptian history from the throes of a La-Z-Boy. Did I mention she had a mustache? Okay. 

When I got into the bathroom, I was the only one. Until about 5 minutes later, when an 8th grader barged in. She sounded like she had a nose piercing. I know she was wearing Adidas Superstars because that’s what every single popular kid wore back in 2002. And also you can get a pretty good view of someone’s feet when you’re in a bathroom stall. She, however, did not get into the stall next to me, like most people in public bathrooms do even though there are plenty of empty ones far from yours (ask me how I feel about this…go ahead.). She stood outside the stall and actually looked through the gap. The “I have no more privacy” gap. She gave me the hairy eyeball and asked me, no demanded, “How old are you?!” I was in the middle of my feminine hygiene routine and obviously should have said “younger than you are…now go away before I salmon-slap your face.” But I didn’t. I was terrified of her nose piercing and her Adidas Superstars, and I stuttered, “S-s-sixth grade…?” She snickered, turned around, turned off the lights, and walked out. At which point I buried myself in a hole in the ground. Just kidding. I went back to class, having forgotten all about Egyptian history, Mrs. Baum’s mustache, and Superstar Adidas. Spoiler alert: I did get some Superstars in 8th grade. I know, I know. Sellout. 

Now, for the piece de resistance! The scene was thus: Mr. Tiemann’s 7th grade math class was in session. The hour before, I had discovered that I was leaking. Quite literally, like a fire hydrant. This is no hyperbole. My jeans were going to have to become acid wash, which is sad, really, because acid wash hadn’t come back in style yet and would not for another 15 years. But I digress. I put my hoodie around my waist and figured I could weather the storm until math class was over. Plus, Jacob Young was in math class. I have since looked Jacob up on Facebook. He’s bald now and fixes dirt bikes for a living while simultaneously bathing in Red Bull. I’m kidding about that last part (he showers in it. Who even takes baths anymore?). However, Jacob was the apple of every girls eye all throughout middle school, and I was no exception. Something about his….well….I’m not really sure what his allure was now, but it will come to me later maybe. The point is, I endured further discomfort and potential humiliation/public shunning for a boy. An Autobiography, By Me.

I sat in my chair and reasoned that all would be well, as long as I didn’t have to get up at any time during class. Mr. Tiemann never called me up to the front to do problems anyhow (everyone knows I don’t do math—math does me). I patiently sat and waited for the bell to ring, distracting myself with my split ends. Suddenly my name was being called. I was…being summoned? I stood up from that chair feeling exactly like Mulan felt when she faced the general of the Chinese army and volunteered for her feeble, crippled father! But I didn’t have to chop my hairs off at any point. I then felt my hoodie fall from my hips, almost in slow motion. As it fell, taking my pride and dignity with it, I looked over at Jacob Young. He was, of course, staring at me. Cue the sad violin music. 

A couple of years later, Jacob started to pursue me. At one point, he even asked me to “bear his children.” I thought it was a pretty awful way to propose, especially to a fellow 14 year old, but then I remembered the Incident. He probably remembered too, and was taking advantage of the fact that I was fertile. 

honestly I didn't know how to end the post except with this picture

Merry Christmas...??

Where I Went, And What Happened To Me When I Got There (in other words, every blog post ever written by anybody)

somebody recently told me I look Asian and asked me if I had Asian ancestry..???

I went to a concerto (are you guys bored of hearing about all the shows I go to because I'm not bored). It was in a sketchmeister part of town, like most good concerts are. We drove past a group of hobos, which made me mega-depressed and a little bit scared because I used to live in Mexico so I trained myself to cross the street whenever I saw vagabundos because they were almost always drunk and in a following-mood. SO I said that and Trent goes, "If I was a bum, I would have the most pimpin' shopping cart. Totally hipster." And then all was well in Zion Trent's truck.

yay concerts. we stood in the front row and I photobombed some 15 year olds. Man I wish I had a copy of that snapchat. :''(

Trent (I honestly can't think of a caption but if you know him I think his name will suffice)

I went to a wedding reception. Upon arriving, I was immediately set up with a boy who showed up a few minutes later. Judging by the amount of stares he threw in my direction, I deduced he had also been informed about me. OOF. So then I left my phone on the other side of the table for 10 measly minutes, and some other guy who shall not be named (mostly because I don't know his name) stole my phone and took selfies with it. I call them "The Subtle Sandwich Selfies" now. He was apparently trying to get a picture of the boy behind him, who was my almost-husband. This almost-husband saw these weird pics of himself on a Strange Girl's Phone (that's me). 

Almost-husbands are kind of rare these days. I dunno what I'd blog about without them, though. He gave me a very strange look like, "Yo, why didn't you just talk to my face instead of employing this boy to get some not-so-subtle pictures of me?" Spoiler alert: I did not leave this reception with anybody's phone number except the Self-Help Hotline's (which also happens to be the number for Taco Time).

There's 5 pictures like this on my phone. Should I frame them? 

I went to the new Bruges Waffle place on Center Street. And now we interrupt this broadcast to ruminate briefly on the hell-hole that is Center Street.

• Center Street has no left turn lanes. But what do people do when they have to turn left? They awkwardly get in the middle of the road past the median, where pedestrians sometimes decide to use nonexistent crosswalks. #bless
• The speed limit is 15 MPH, which is the same speed limit in residential areas AROUND SUPER CURVY CURVES IN THE ROAD. Ok?
• Center Street is flanked with parking, and also parking right down the middle, so good luck maneuvering your large vehicle down that road. Ha. Haha! And you thought it was for driving!
• Center Street contains almost all the good restaurants in Provo, hence why I go there. Also, Pioneer Book. But I prefer to bike there so I can maintain my Hipster title. You know?

So I'm sitting on Center Street right in front of Gloria's Italian Restaurant (apparently it is very tasty). Gloria's is muy popular and so there were lots of witnesses to this awful crime. The crime that shall be known as #JERRYWAYNE forevermore.

He was in a huge truck, he backed right into Falcor, Caitlyn banged on her window cuz she was about to get crushed, I honked my horn that I found out doesn't work in that moment (I mean), his truck was actually lifted up by the force of my car because my car is really a tank, and I think I started laughing hysterically as soon as he realized he was crushing the bones of my car and almost our bodies, and did not stop laughing hysterically until my waffle sandwich had been consumed 30 minutes later.

P.S. the waffle sandwich was mediocre and not worth the 8 dollars. But I bet the dessert waffles are rockballs awesome.

I rode my bike to campus, which was beauteous of course because when is campus not? Hint: when it is covered in ice, that's when. As I rode my bike there, I crossed the street 1,356 times and almost got run over 1,356 times. One guy even flipped me off. It was glorious. I gave him my very best muppet face and rode away. I think he and Regina George will be very happy together.

Oh yeah! And I went camping.

 ...And turned my Tinder back on for a couple days. It was worth it.

I get why raisins are made in California now

On Saturday I was at the beach. It was incredibly hawt. I spell it like that because 1, I have a college degree and therefore I'm allowed to sound like I don't, and 2, there was a surfing competition going on and, well....it was hawt. Ya dig?

I was foolish and didn't wear a swimsuit because I wasn't planning on swimming. Look. I grew up going to the Oregon coast every summer, and nobody swims in that water unless they're wearing a full body wetsuit. But in California, people lay out on the sand and get skin cancer??? With swimsuits on. They never actually get in the water. This is a thing! Well, I got a nice sprinkle of freckles on my face and legs, and saw some dolphins, which reminded me to shave my legs later, and saw some cool surfing tricks all while getting shriveled up by the sun. Conclusion: California is an excellent place to turn grapes into raisins (it's not a metaphor).

Here is what it's like to road trip with my younger siblings. The scene is thus: we're trapped in an enclosed space for 10 hours. Ellie has to empty her bladder every hour or so. They need snacks every 20 minutes. I bring all my library books and a box of Dramamine. We play the license plate game for a measly 10 minutes until one of them cheats and the whole game goes down the tubes.

I started to write this in my phone somewhere between Nevada and California, and welp. That's all I have to say. WELP.

Bad Ideas I Have Executed & Then Immediately Regretted Thereafter

1. Eating no less than four (that's right, FOUR) whole wheat muffins on a road trip to California [this very road trip, as it turns out], far from any rest stop.
2. Jumping off of my best friend's trampoline onto a "tower" of silky pillows because I thought it would be like a waterless slip-n-slide. That was the 14th sprained ankle of my childhood and also the worst. My mother made me take crutches to church, which was just about the most humiliating thing for a 12-year-old girl. Don't forget the orthopedic socks. Er...sock. It was all wrapped up in a nice Single 5ever Package. Although nowadays if I had crutches, I'd milk it. As I mentioned in my last post, I don't get embarrassed easily.
3. Creating a Spanglish email address for myself in 10th grade which would follow me into oblivion, or at least the age of 25. My dad likes to pronounce it incredibly poorly, just so I know how foolish I look to universities and banks. "Pelly-Ree-Jo-Jo-Runner." To be clear, I'm not a male redhead and I can hardly call myself a runner. /end
4. Stalking a friend of a friend of a friend (bless the internet for giving me this capability) and then accidentally liking one of his pictures which was 58 weeks old. The fear I have of repeating this mistake is only equal to the fear I have when I'm locked out of my apartment, my bladder is full, and my keys are buried at the bottom of my purse. These fears are real and are not to be challenged.
5. Listening to the song "Taxi Driver" at least 50 times in a row so I could memorize the lyrics and impress my friends at a birthday party I was going to (you don't have to listen to it, guyz, but really, the entire song is made up of band names, so that's cool). I actually walked around the block where the party was being held like 5 times, the song on heavy rotation, until I'd burned all the words into my brain. I mean, I know the lyrics now and that's great but I can't add that to my resume. And the only memorable thing about that birthday party was the cake made of doughnuts. Bless it. 

Things we said to each other while on this trippity-trip ("we" mostly meaning Ellie):

Ellie spilled a bunch of pencil shavings all over her seat, and said to my bro: "Don't talk to me now, I'm in crisis!"

My dad was channel surfing in our motel the first night and kept landing on novelas (Spanish soap operas). He paused on an especially flamboyant one and my mom said "I can feel a swear coming on..."

We drove through a wicked rainstorm between St. George and Arizona. Most people were pulled over with their hazard lights on, but my dad kept plowing through. The lightning and thunder were so intense that at one point Ellie said "Can we please turn on a movie?! When I'm doing something other than lightning I'm like 'YAYY!'" Lightning is a verb now, you animals.

My parents were discussing where the nearest Costco was so they could get gas. Ellie chimed in from the backseat: "Hey! Hey guys we should go to Costco and get smoothies. I mean since you guys are talking about Costco."

Caleb started to spit for no reason. Well, I guess he's a 12-year-old boy, so that's reason enough. Mom said "Cal why are you spitting?" {silence} "NO SPITTING!" Familiezzzz.

Ellie, to my mother: "Mom, just put some chips in this cap." {As she extends her upside down baseball hat to my mom} 

"No. I'm not going to put food in something you'll put on your head later."

But everyone knows Ellie rarely wears hats. She basically uses them for storage purposes, the same way she's used anything with a concave opening since the age of two. 

Ellie, on the way home (we were all on our last legs, mentally, if you know what I mean): "Can we just throw Caleb out the window?" 

But really. We did have a good time. Lest you think the entire trip was like that. Just don't put us in a car for very long or we'll start muttering death threats and throwing Cheez-Its (the second thing actually did happen).

it took way too much effort to make this 6 minute video and I'm not even doing a makeup tutorial

I made this for you, Liz. And all 5 of my followers. Bless. The "effort" part I am referring to is the "getting the video from my phone to my computer." Granted, I did get distracted by another cat video, so that tacked some time onto it. ANYhow.

Couldn't figure out how to make it huge on here so just click the "YouTube" icon and you can watch it FULL-SCREEN! Yaaaa technology!

this is coming from a girl who just ate two cookies and is about to go for a run

I was walking to my car this morning, wearing my hoodie like I always do, but this time I really did need that blue hooded sweatshirt. And I realized that, quite suddenly, fall is here. I blinked and summer was gone. Oh, summer. You were kind of a (insert swear word here). 

Yesterday in the temple, I felt overwhelmed--really, that is not hyperbole--with Heavenly Father's love for me. It's not loud and it doesn't ever really surprise me. It's this comforting feeling, ever-present (if I'm looking for it), and it doesn't ever change. So, listen to me, all of you girls or boys who think nobody loves you.

You're wrong.

The same person who created the Swiss Alps and the vast oceans and the Redwood trees and the endless galaxies--He made you, too. And He loves you the most. Got it? I can't reach through this computer screen and shake all of your respective shoulders, but pretend like I am....just humor me for one second please.

I am now going to demonstrate how to get through hellacious weeks like this last one was. Because we all suffer through those days every once in awhile...maybe more than once in awhile. Maybe every day is hard for you. P.S. It's not a sin to be sad. More on that later. Or here, if you want. But sometimes the sad gets to be too much for one human heart to hold. We weren't created to be sorrowful all the time....but if Satan can, he will make you feel like that's just the way it is for you. Your life sucks. So deal with it. 

I'm sorry, but Satan is a real jerk. And we all (errybody currently living on this planet, and other planets too, if I'm being technical) have the power to "crush his head," metaphorically speaking, since he doesn't have a head. Ha. 

One of the ways I "crush his head" (gosh, it's really fulfilling to use that phrase in relation to Public Enemy Numero Uno) is to run. I talked about this a little bit when I ran my race earlier in the summer, but yeah....using those bodies of ours for good is a really awesome (and healthy, two birds with one stone, heck yes) way to stick it to Lucifer. Running is my favorite because it clears my head, and challenges me, and reminds me that I am tough, and I can do hard things, even when I sometimes really don't think I can, or want to. Hellooooo run-on sentence. 

So I started to run again, because I'm running another half (don't wanna talk about it right now), and also because sometimes the insanity of my day-to-day life is too much for my idle body to take. I have to, quite literally, run away from my demons. Good news is: my demons aren't long distance runners. They can't keep up with me. *insert thumbs up emoji here*

The second thing I have started to do is move towards those really freaky, really uncomfortable goals of mine, which have long been in the back of my mind but I have yet to do anything about them, simply because I'm skeered out of my britches. Another great word: britches. Anyhow, I just thought,
"Hey. Why don't I just see what happens if I try this out?" And you know what happened? Immediate peace and joy. Serious. It was immediate. Rumi said "When you feel a peaceful joy, that's when you are near truth.” We all know that to be straight-up, because Rumi said it, and if someone named Rumi hit you with his car you'd probably still forgive him. His license plate would probably say 'OMMMM" and that's all. You think?

Another thing you can do is stop worrying. This is easier said than done, Chancho. I am a Professional Grade A Worrywart. I have Melatonin spray by my bed, if that helps support my claim. I mean. (BT-Dubz, melatnonin spray produces the most awful and crazy dreams, so unless you're Desperado like me don't use it PLZ). But the way you do this is to let go of what you have no control over. Just let it go! Release those ashes into the wind. Tie an anchor to them and drop them into the ocean. You aren't a coat rack. Don't let other people hang their problems onto you. Don't hang useless problems onto yourself. It's just not worth it. Now I say unto you, let it go.

How about a happy list to take us out? (This happy list is ONLY pictures, for all of you whose eyeballs are currently falling out because of all the text written above, SORRYIMNOTSORRY).

from le other blog (cept for the last two pics yay)

It's Friiiiiiiiday. Go watch Mother's Nature's light show tonight and make your future grandbabies proud (but only if you're in the northern USA, sry)