Winter Wonders

It started snowing today just in time for me to drive home from my parent's. I'm sitting in my apartment, listening to The Beatles, putting stuff away and generally enjoying the peace. It was a lovely Christmas. I'm keeping this brief; I leave you with this holiday message:

Oh Hai!!1!!

Christmas is coming way too fast.

I have no free time at all.

It's worse than when school was in. I thought I was busy with classes and stuff, but no, that wasn't busy. Now is busy.

I've discovered that being busy and stressed (because I'm so busy) makes me extra anal about having things clean. Is it so bad to want to come home to a tidy apartment? I don't think so. Funny how these things manifest themselves.

For the first time in I don't know how many years, I'm not already completely burned out on x-mas carols. I don't listen to the radio (except NPR) and I haven't spent much time in stores so I haven't been hearing the Christmas music that has been playing since October. The last couple days I've actually been tuning in to the "all carols all the time" station when I'm in my car. I can only stand it for a song or two, because then they play something terrible or go to a ten minute long comercial break. Still, I'm actually enjoying Christmas songs this year. Weird.

Burning Ring of Fire

I've had a crazy weekend, but I haven't had a chance to write about it until now. Friday night! I have a story! I even have visual aids. This is it:

First, a map. It's easier if you have some idea of the geography of my neighborhood.



Friday night I went to a "rubiks-cube" party (located at X). That should have been the most exciting thing to happen that night, but it wasn't. I left the party around 12:30 - didn't stay too late because I had work Saturday morning. Because the party was just up the street and around the corner from where I live, I had left my car at home. I set out walking home (along the path of the little grayish-bluish dots... which you may not be able to see very well). When I turned on to the pink street (point !), I noticed a few flashing lights. I was surprised, but not very concerned.

We continued walking. Yes, we. By the way, I was with my roommate and two of our friends. The closer we got to the Point ? the more lights we noticed. The entire pink street was blocked off at that point and we could see at least four fire trucks, plus a couple of cop cars and an ambulance. Naturally by the time we got to ? we were all turning to each other and saying "What the fuck is going on?"

There were 5 fire trucks total parked on the pink street. People were mulling about. Firemen and all the other emergency response people were all over the place. All this is a very strange sight for one o'clock in the morning. I walked up to one of the fire dudes (standing quite near to point !!!) and asked him what was going on. He pointed in the general direction of my apartment (Z) and said "Oh, some apartment building caught fire."

For a second, I panicked. Was it my apartment? Oh shit. I turned down the dark blue street, which leads to my back door, and noticed a crowd of people about where my apartment is. As I got closer, I realised that they were all looking away from my place (at Y). I'm sure I don't have to tell you that I was releived. Eventually I joined the crowd and saw this:


erm... sort of. I didn't actually take a picture Friday night, so this is a recreation, using photoshop, badly. There were some guys with hoses that I didn't bother putting in because I'm lazy. There was also no snow or tarps. But you get the general idea.

It was kind of crazy. I'm really glad it wasn't my place. I watched for a little while from my kitchen, then I went to bed because I still had to go to work Saturday morning. Here's what it looks like now:

















The one on the right is literally the view from my kitchen window. According to the newspaper there were active flames for about 2 hours and over 100 firefighters were there fighting it. The fire was caused by a cigarette butt and started on one of the 6th floor balconies. About 80 people now have to find new places to live. It's going to take about a year to get the apartments in that building repaired to the point that people can live in them again.

People are Strange

Sorry I've been absent for a while. I've been busy getting sick, getting built up and then getting shot down.

Remember my stranger? Of course you do, it's the last thing I wrote about. We're going to call him Joe. After my last blog I resolved to keep more of an open mind about my budding relationship with Joe. I made an effort to stop doubting that he was as fabulous as he seemed. We went out again, twice, and it was fantastic.

I'm not saying that I really got to know everything about him right away. I guess he is essentially still a stranger. But what I have found out is great. And hanging out with him... It's going to sound really stupid and corny... he made me laugh. Hard. The way I laugh with pretty much only with my favorite friends. I'm not sure anyone I've dated before has done that.

I'm not saying it would have work out perfectly or anything. I'm enough of a realist to not expect too much right away. But I did see a lot of potential and things were looking like they were going to keep going really well.

Then Saturday night he blindsided me with the "I just want to be friends speech." Except it wasn't the normal cliche speech. He was right to do it. He's dealing with some shit that would make it really unfair of him to go into a relationship. He just isn't at a place in his life that he could give as much as he took. I know that sounds a lot like the typical lame excuse, but it's just my summation of what he said. He was completely right and kind and... impossible to argue with. What was I going to say? No, I want to date you so I deny you a chance to fix your life first. I want to be in a relationship that is doomed from the beginning because you're not ready for one.

I'm not heartbroken or anything. We weren't seeing each other long enough for any real serious attachment to form. I'm extremely disappointed, and sad to loose something that had such great potential. More than anything I'm feeling a little wiped out by the whole romance thing. I feel like I've just run through one failure after another. Whenever I meet someone I'm interested in, it never goes anywhere. We might have a fun flirtation or a short lived series of dates that lead nowhere. I'm beginning to doubt that I am even capable of connecting with someone on a deeper level.

With Joe I was impressed by something that made me think for a second that I might have found someone with whom I could connect. I guess I still can, but it will have to be as just a friend. Fuck. Whatever potential might be there, any possible romantic relationship has been given the kiss of death. We're off to friend land, a mythical place from which few ever return.

So the morning after Joe and I downgraded our relationship from "dating" to "just friends" I woke up with a fever and a very swollen, very sore throat. The doctor confirmed strep. I spent most of the day sleeping or watching TV at my parent's house.

This is the last week of class, which means finals, lots of homework, tying things up. High stress. No fun.

Life kind of sucks for me right now.

What Is This Thing Called Love?

Seems to me it’s been a while since I made my dear readers read something really long. Lucky for you, I’m feeling particularly pensive (and, apparently, alliterative) this morning. I also woke up much earlier than I intended and can’t seem to recapture sleep. So instead I will blog (and hopefully I’ll manage to fit a nap in sometime this afternoon, ‘cause I’m still kind of tired, just can’t fall back to sleep).

Love is an immense and complicated subject. Partially because the word “love” itself is so vague and subjective. As a writer, I try to steer clear of the term; the ultimate goal being to write a poem that captures the feeling of love without ever saying “love.” The big problem with “love” is it expresses a whole range of emotions from familial love to friendly love to romantic love and even the crazy, irrational, fairytale love of chick-flicks and, well, fairytales. This last version is something I usually roll my eyes at, call infatuation, and avoid falling for (all the while secretly hoping that Mr. Perfect will come breezing by and completely sweep me off my feet). I have it in my head that Love is something deeper and longer lasting than that fluttering, Hollywood, romance that implies a happily ever after, which we all know doesn’t really happen.

I have been in love, to the point that I could say “I love you” to another person, exactly twice in my life. Funny enough, both men I have loved are now married to women who are not me.

I don’t really believe in falling in love quickly. I tend to be of the philosophy that true and lasting love has to have a strong foundation and really can’t be rushed into. It baffles me that some friends of mine will date a person for just a few weeks and suddenly be “in love.” I think they fall out of love just as quickly. That kind of love, to me, isn’t really love. It’s much too fickle and cheap to really be truly meaningful.

Once upon a time, at Found Magazine, I read a “to not do” list. I don’t remember what was on it except one item: Don’t fall in love with strangers. That really resonated with me and has stuck to the edge of my consciousness. It has seemed particularly pertinent recently after a slew of failed attempts at dating and some empty liaisons (read: regular sloppy meaningless make-outs).

I, being slow to fall in love anyway, am in no danger of actually falling instantly in love with a stranger, but I take that imperative in my own way. To me it rings the truth that it is dangerous to expect too much from someone you don’t know. Though it may not be love exactly, letting my guard down early on in the dating game and giving in to twitterpation is an easy way to get hurt.

This philosophy has not always been bad, I guess. It has saved me from being devastated over some failed little romances. And thank God I was guarded enough to not fall in love with El Douche (though I will admit that I came very close). Still, with the slew of short lived, dead end, attempts at dating that has been my love life lately, I’m wondering if maybe it is, in fact, better to not hold back. Maybe a new approach is better. Could falling in love with a stranger actually work?

Right now is exactly the time for me to decide if I want to take this new approach. I happen to have a stranger who would be very easy to fall in love with. I don’t mean real Love, the kind that really lasts. I don’t think I’m wired to get that way about someone I don’t know really well. If I let myself “fall in love” with said stranger, it will be … well, I guess it would have to be the fairytale kind. Falling in love with strangers for me would mean giving in to the potential for real Love with them. It would mean putting my faith in the expectation of plenty. It would mean letting myself go into a relationship unguarded and very vulnerable to a world of hurt. The very idea is terrifying and exciting. It goes so much against the way I’m used to approaching things that it just might be worth trying. Maybe it’s my own inhibitions that are keeping me from getting into a healthy, lasting, sort of relationship.

I guess I should tell you about my stranger now. I met him dancing on a Friday, we went on a date the next Monday. So things started out rather quickly, but since then they’ve really slowed to a snail’s pace. Our date was about three weeks ago. I’ve talked to him on the phone, sporadically, since then. For a few days following our date I talked to him daily, then he vanished for a week. Finally, he called me, from a pay phone, and told me he had lost his cell phone. We talked on the phone a few times since then; just about every other day. I haven’t talked to him at all since Wednesday though because he is in Virginia for a week, visiting family for the holiday.

So here I am. I will say that our date went really well and I see a world of potential in him. Despite that, and our handful of conversations, I don’t feel like I really know him at all. Thus he still qualifies as a stranger. Still, I’m instinctively hesitant. Maybe I shouldn’t be. I wonder if it’s even possible for me to trust that this could actually go really well and let my guard down. It would almost certainly be good for me to take that approach. After all, if I expect it to fail, the chances go way up that it will… self fulfilling prophecy and all.

I haven’t decided how I want to handle things. This whole ridiculously long post was pretty much me thinking out loud...er... in type. It just barely occurred to me late last night that “falling in love with a stranger” might not be that bad. It’s a bizarre concept for me and I’m still kind of wrapping my head around it. My stranger doesn’t get back in town until tomorrow, and I’m going to be pretty busy the rest of this week, so I have some time to figure it out. Wish me luck, and feel free to put your two cents in the comments.

Monday Again

What a waste of a weekend. Despite my lack of bloggage I was actually not running around having fun in the great outdoors. I was, instead, sleeping mostly. I was wretched all weekend and had no fun at all. I feel better now, but not 100%. It's all been very yuck.

Gracias

Happy Thanksgiving!

In spirit of the holiday today's post is all about the things that I am truly and deeply thankful for. I think it is nice to have a day to seriously sit and ponder that which makes our life worth living and to give thanks for those things. So here (in a dancing-turkeyed list) are the things I'm most thankful for this morning:

First would have to be my family. Especially my parents. I'm not only thankful that I have them, but also that they are so awesome. I've run into a few examples lately of really overbearing, controlling parents and I'm so glad my parents are not like that. They've always been supportive, but they've also (almost always) let me live my own life and do my own thing. Thanks, Mom and Dad!



I have, I would say, three friends that I am particularly thankful for. Arrakis, Aaron and Cheng have been there for me when I'm been slobbery and stupid. They've helped me through some really tough times and have been there when I need them. I hope I've done the same for them. If I haven't I hope they know that I will be. They are all amazing people and I'm so glad I know them



Of course, I'm thankful for all my old friends too. They make me laugh every time I see them and I think that's really important. I'm glad a have a group of people I can be really happy with.





I'm also specifically thankful for my new friends too (Not everything on my list is going to be friends/family, I promise. But those are pretty freekin' important so they get a few turkeys). Since I started dancing again (it's only been about a year, can you believe it?) I've met all sorts of new people. I feel like the community has really embraced me and I think that's awesome. Many of my new friends are really awesome and I'm very glad to know them.



One more friend one. I am very grateful that my roommate is not crazy, or super uptight, or strung out, or passive-aggressive. I hardly ever see her these days. We're both so busy that we are pretty much just at the apartment to sleep, and if we're both there at the same time, we tend to be doing homework. But we still get along and any squabbles we've had we've been able to talk about them like rational people. She's pretty much awesome.



I went over to my Grandmother's house today to bake pie (mmmm pie). I walked in and she had the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade on. Two seconds in the door and I heard "Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down." I ran to the living room and there was Rick Fucking Astley! Yes, Macy's Thanksgiving Parade was Rick Roll'd! I am wicked thankful for that.





Thank Baby Dinosaur Jesus we elected a democrat and Bush is no longer in charge.





I am super grateful that I am still healthy. Without modern medicine I would be dead several times over by now. Thanks to whatever it is that keeps me from getting really really sick again.





I am also thankful for all sorts of material things that make my life more fun/interesting/easy: my books, poetry, my computer, my car (which still works miraculously), duct tape, good beer, comfy shoes, not comfy shoes that make my legs look freekin' hot, lamp, good music, bad puns, etc etc etc



That's a pretty good list, I think. I still have my cold, but I'm battling furiously. Camping is still the plan. I'm not going to sick out on that until I absolutely have to. Here's to leaving things to the last minute! So hopefully I wont be blogging again until Monday because I'll be in the middle of the Utah desert running around having a good time.

Oh Noes!

I feel like crap today.

My entire head feels stuffy and my nose is running. I've been sneezing a lot. Everything feels slower and fuzzy because of the yuck that has taken over. It feels like a nasty little cold. It smells like a nasty little cold. I refuse to acknowledge that it is a nasty little cold.

This is not a good thing.

Camping is still the plan for this weekend. I can't be sick! I'm going anyway. But I need to kick this head cold/gunk A.S.A.P. because camping in November with a cold = not fun.

Blegh.

I am self medicating with tea and Airborne. Hope it works.

Google, You Crazy!

Yesterday I was playing with the webstats for this little blog o' mine. I have a thingy set up that tells me how many hits I get, where they come from, if they come from a search engine what keywords were searched, that sort of thing. I know those things aren't exactly the most accurate things, but it's kind of fun to look at once in a while.

I discovered something really freaky yesterday though. When you ask google: taoism and existentialism the very first result is This Post I did last year. That is kind of creepy, I think. That post was pretty much me just talking out of my ass. It's probably one of the best blogs I've done, but that doesn't mean that it's the first thing people should see when they're trying to figure those philosophies out.

The reason I did that search was because that page is the one with the most hits, besides my home page. I thought maybe I'd be in the first couple pages or something. It would make sense if someone who was really interested in the subject and wanted to read everything they could stumbled across my blog somewhere in their browsing. But no, I'm the very first result. What is Google thinking? It's not even a totally obscure and weird thing to ask about, really. It just goes to show you have to be very careful when you ask the internet questions.

What if there's some kid out there who, because they haven't been taught how to analyze sources or, you know, think, is using my blog as a source in a paper or something. Doesn't that just give you the heebie-jeebies? It does me. That hypothetical kid gets whatever he deserves for using me as a source because he'd have to be pretty dumb to do it. Still, the fact that it's possible is bizzar.

On the other hand, it's totally flattering. I get to pretend that I'm just a little famous on the internet. Go me.

Blah Blah Blah

I'm not in the mood today. But blah blah blah NaBloPoMo... freeking November.

Remember Monsterpiece Theater? That was fun. Don't? Oh, well, here's one. Watch it.



I figure since I posted the clip from Waiting for Godot earlier this month that the "Waiting for Elmo" M.T. was appropriate.

Holy War

I spent the afternoon at my parent's house watching the "big game." The BYU vs UofU football game is the event of the year here in my fair state. It's more than just a stand off between two rival schools, but it's symbolic of the faith divide that is more prominent in Utah than any other state in the US (I think. I don't really know). BYU represents the Mormons who dominate the population here and pretty much control the politics. Utah represents all us liberal nutcakes who hang out in Salt Lake.

Utah won. w00t. Actually, Utah more than won. We dominated. The final score was 24-48.

During time outs and boring bits, I flipped channels. I haven't watched TV in ages and I was relishing in the mindless glow of that silly little brain eater. I was accosted with Christmas on almost every channel. Some stations were already playing Christmas movies. Others just had millions of Buy-Your-X-Mas-Present-Here ads. It made me glad I don't have a set. Remember when Christmas season didn't really start until after Thanksgiving? Next thing you know, they'll start running x-mas ads right after the 4th of July.

Absolute Bull Crap

ABC and I are no longer friends. I don't have a TV but I do occasionally watch shows online. It's nice that way. No commercials.

Anyway, one of the shows I like to watch (and I'm way behind on this season because I haven't had time to zone out in front of the computer lately) is Pushing Daisies. It's a fun little show. I like it.

ABC has canceled it. We're now officially fighting. Daisies was one of the few original and interesting shows on television. Ok, well, it wasn't particularly deep or anything. It's a little (maybe a lot) cheesy and over the top, but I like it. *sigh* I guess it was bound to happen sometime. I was kind of surprised that it even got a second season, truth be told.

Oooooo Sparkly

I was going to go see Twilight on Tuesday. I had two of those little promotional sneak-preview passes that you can pick up around town. They always have more passes than seats available, so it's always a good idea to get to the theater early to get tickets. The movie started at 7. I got there around 4. The actual tickets had been sold out since 11:30. So I missed my chance. Darn.

Twilight is kind of a strange phenomenon. The books (I have read all of them) are mediocre at best, terrible at their worst. I'm not sure I understand why they are so popular. They are not well written at all. The story is kind of awful - the first book all of the action takes place in the very end. Edward is a creepy, possessive, moody, stalker, sparkly vampire. Jacob is better, but still not exactly a great romantic hero. Bella is kind of insipid.

I guess I can't expect too much from a YA novel. But there's really no reason why I shouldn't. The Book Thief, for example, is a YA book that was absolutely brilliant. But it's not nearly as popular as Twilight. I guess I shouldn't really be surprised. In a world where Dan Brown is a best selling author over and over again, it's no shock that another mediocre writer should be just as popular.

I have to say though, Dan Brown may have an atrocious writing style, but his stories are fun and he knows how to tell a story. Stephanie Meyer's vampire saga has a pretty weak story as well as poor execution. I don't get it.

On the other hand, I did read them. All four books. I guess I was suckered in just as much as anyone else. And the books were very engaging. I burned through them very quickly and was entertained the whole time. So I guess there is something to them. Of course, I am also going to see the movie (though I may wait until it hits the dollar theater) because, well, I read the books. Maybe it will actually work better as a movie. Probably not, judging by the trailer. We'll see.

Sorry Sorry

The internet gods are conspiring against me. Well, just the ones at my apartment. I don't know if its an issue with my computer or with the wireless, but I haven't been able to get online the last couple days (thus the lack of bog posts). There are several solutions to this problem - if it's not my computer, I could shlep my laptop up to campus or to the library and use the internet there. I can also just use the computers on campus or at the library that are available to whoever. That's what I'm doing now.

Besides the internets thwarting me, the last couple days have been really busy too. The weekend I was home just long enough to sleep. Life is for living, people, not for blogging!

Hit That Jive

I've had a busy last couple days. On Tuesday I conspired with my friend, Jake, to take over the U Swing Club. Yesterday we talked to the current president and... well, Jake is now officially the president of the U of U Swing Kids and I'm the V.P.

Today we took care of all the official stuff. Paperwork and all with people on campus.

We have big plans. It's going to be awesome!

That is all.

You may call me Madame Vice President.

Death Becomes Me

I didn't post yesterday, you might have noticed. I had a good excuse though: I was fighting for my life. Yes, your humble authoress was nearly the victim of really terrible poetry.

Anyone who has read the Hitchhiker's Guide knows that bad poetry can be deadly, or at least very very torturous. Last night I was reading two sets of 5 poems for my creative writing class. They were by two different classmates and I had to read them because we are workshopping. Of course, because we're workshopping, I had to read them carefully, closely and more than once. It was literally painful.

These two writers could give to Vogons a run for their money. It was worse than blog -poetry, though I wouldn't be surprised if they would put it on their blogs if they had them. It wasn't even poetry, really. It was fresh dog-shit dressed up in broken lines and declared "poem." It was an amaturish attempt to take the clay block and sculpt it; resulting in a "brilliant" exhibit titled Block. It was the poetic equivilant of the awkward acne riddled teenager drooling on his desk while sitting behind the hot, blonde, popular cheerleader. It was the prattle of an inarticulate idiot whose vocabulary is limited to the drivel picked up in kitchens and back alleyways (bad use of ordinary language, is to me, more vulgar than any profanities that you could throw at me).

I'm having way too much fun with my metaphores, it's getting out of control.

On an interesting, and completely unrelated note, I saw HotFedExBoy on campus today. I didn't talk to him because he was on one side of a window and I was on the other. It was odd seeing him though.

Put This in Your Pipe and Smoke It

I'm really excited about a couple things today. I'm not going to blog about them though because I don't want to jinx anything.

Instead, I am going to give you something to ponder. It's from the brilliant Beckett play, Waiting For Godot

This is Just To Say

I was discussing with a friend of mine how I'm kind of stuck for things to write about here every single day. I've decided that I don't like posting every day, and I feel like the quality of my posts goes down when I'm posting just to post, not because I have something to say. But that is beside the point. My friend suggested that I post some of my writing (poems or short stories). It's not like I would be the first blogger to put up his/her own poetry, and it would be a easy, little effort thing to do (as long as I did stuff I've already written rather than write something new each day. Which is what I would do, because I would want to post stuff that's been milling for a while and might actually be good).

I'm not going to post my stuff. I am generally against blog poetry. Why? Because it is almost always completely terrible. And people who don't know any better leave comments on it like "zomg wow that was so amazing and deep your like the best poet ever" which only encourages bad poetry. The logical side of my brain says that just the act of putting a poem on a blog doesn't make the poem bad. The other side of my brain sticks its tongue out and says, "you don't know that for sure. What if it does!" I don't like it when my brains fight.

My friend made the argument that, even if the poetry is not very good, it serves a purpose. It conveys a message to people who know the author really well. It exposes the author in a safe, kind of personal level, to those who he is comfortable exposing himself to (hee hee, exposing oneself). To that I say, why not just write your close friends a letter/e-mail/text message. Or, here's a radical idea, call them if you're Feeling enough to write a poem.

I think the problem is that most people think that poems are all about feeling and/or things that happen. It's an easy mistake to make. Poetry, if it's done right, can be overwhelmingly emotional and can often capture very poignant moments. But, in the words of Stephane Mallarme: "you do not make a poem with ideas, but with words." Poetry is all about the language, the constuction, the process itself. All poetry is, in some ways, just about the poem itself. The subject matter of the poem is irrelevant. True poetry can stand alone without all the background information about the author and what he's been through. I know there are many literary critics who may disagree with that. But a good poem is still a good poem if you take the author out of it. You may not be able to interpret it exactly without some biographical information, but it is still a good poem.

I have never read a blog-poem that was good.

I've read some blog-poems that would make interesting songs for some hipster, obscure indy-band. And that has some merit, but it's a whole different thing. If any of my readers really want to read my stuff... well, let me know. I'm not above sharing my work, and it's always nice to get feedback. I'm just not posting it here.

Oh Weekend

I was really looking forward to this weekend. I didn't have anything going on Friday and was really excited to sit around and do nothing for once. It was really nice. I spent most of my time reading and drinking tea. Friday night I went dancing at the Golden Skillet- I've been trying to get out there (some AMAZING dancers go there, so it's a great opportunity to dance above my level) for months and haven't been able to. All in all it was a very relaxing day.

I made up for it yesterday. I got up fairly early, for a Saturday, to go shopping for a bridesmaid dress. Exciting, right. My best friend is getting hitched in August. It may seem kind of early to be shopping for dresses, but it's better to do it now than to wait to the very last minute. I was kind of dreading the whole thing, but it ended up being really fun. There are four of us bridesmaids, we're all wearing different dresses. I think it would have been impossible to get us all in the same dress and had us all look not-hideous. All the dresses will be the same color, and our flowers will match, so it's all going to mesh. I'm strangely actually looking forward to this wedding. Click Here if you want to see the dress I ended up with.

I went straight from shopping to work and then straight from work to my friend, Val's house where I quickly changed clothes and then set off for the Symphony. I have to say that last night was one of the most amazing symphony performances I've been to. They started out kind of weak, with Brahms. Brahms is lovely, but doesn't do anything for me. I find him kind of pretty, but boring. The last two pieces were incredible! The second was Elgar's Cello Concerto with a guest soloist... I can't even begin to tell you how amazing it was. For her encore she played an arrangement of a Piazzolla (I think) that was written literally two days before last night special for her by a composer she met on the plane here from Argentina. How cool is that? The final piece was Ginastera, some Argintine dude. It was incredibly exciting. The piece made me want to stand up and cheer. It was awesome.

After the symphony we went to an after party. I didn't get home until about 2 am. Good times. Today I don't have much going on. I'm going to laze around with friends this afternoon, then it's off to Grandma's for dinner with the family.

Let There Be Light

I (apparently) like florescent lights. That was a comment made in my writing journal (yes, we're back to my Creative Writing class). I do like florescent lights though. They have much more personality than regular lights. They flicker when they come on, they slowly gain luminosity, they hum and buzz once they're fully lit. It's odd, I never thought I would be a florescent liking person.

There is a down side too. Florescent lights tend to make people look washed out and occasionally cast a greenish tint on one's skin. To be honest, I do enjoy the personality to be found in them, but I seem to vilify them too. Any wholesome environment ought to have, at the very least, boring, normal bulbs. At best it would have sunlight. Ah sunlight.

Here We Go Again

Sorry about yesterday. I was really not in the mood to blog anything. But, since it's nablopomo (still really fun to say!) I felt like I had to do something. That, of course, begs the question: Is it really worth posting if there is nothing to post about?

I guess for the purposes of this month, the answer would be yes. I promise not to do any more like yesterday though. That was a pretty serious cop-out. And, to be fair, I have often posted when there has been nothing to post about. I just usually do it more eloquently than I did yesterday.

So today... what wants to be blogged?

Yesterday my fair city got a decent dusting of snow. It feels kind of early to be starting winter. But I guess it is November, so it was bound to happen sometime soon. Last week the weather was lovely though - in the 70s, perfect fall days - so it's kind of sad to go away from that to snow already. I do love snow though. Watching it fall is a very calming activity. I love the way it makes everything silent and clean.

Besides the weather... I guess I should write about something more than the weather. After all, this is my blog of awesome, not my blog of small talk.

On second thought. I don't want to sit at the computer anymore. I have a book calling my name, and some homework to do. So I'll wait until tomorrow to go on about something more than the snow.

Ha Ha!

You thought I was going to miss my blog post for today. But you're wrong. I still have, like, 45 minutes until tomorrow. Take that blogosphere!

Happy Election Day!

Guess what, I'm not going to say anything about politics today. At least not anymore than what I just said, which really isn't much.

I feel fuzzy today. My sleep schedule is all sorts of skewed right now. I don't know if it's because of the daylight savings thing or because I went to Rocky Horror Picture Show on Saturday at midnight and so didn't get to bed until like 4, or maybe 3, depending on when you changed your clock. One would think that I would be over a weird night like that, but I'm not. I'm having a hard time sleeping early at night. I'm still getting up early for class and stuff. The result is that my brain feels blurry. Does that even make sense?

I'm working tonight. That's going to be interesting. All the libraries are polling places so... I'm not sure what to expect. (By the way, this is not talking about politics, it's talking about work) I imagine it's going to be kind of nuts. Oh well. I'll manage to survive.

That's all for today.

NaBloPoMo

Say the title out loud. It's fun.

I just discovered that November is National Blog Posting Month (that's where the nablopomo comes from... seriously, say it out loud! nablopomo). All blogger people are supposed to post a blog everyday. And this is supposed to promote... um... blogging?

I will tell you right now that I am not going to post every day. Sorry to disappoint everyone, but it's just not going to happen. For one thing, I already missed the first day in November. For another, I know for certain that I will not be able to post at all during Thanksgiving weekend because Dad and I are doing our annual T-weekend camping trip.

Still, it's an interesting challenge. Maybe I'll try to blog every day and just let the camping trip be the exception. Writing every day is good, right. But do you guys really want to read me going on about nothing Every Single Day? If you do, posting every day in November will spoil you and then I'll have to keep doing it every day in December and January and on and on forever and then there will be just way to much of my pointless rambling out on the interwebs and there's enough pointless rambling already on the interwebs without me contributing to it.

I guess what I'm trying to say is this: I'm going to just keep on blogging like I always blog. But if you want to read something silly every day, I recommend going over to Bag's blog. He is posting everyday. In fact, he is posting a MUSTACHE every day. Come on, awesomeness ensues.

Unhappy Happenings

I just got some bad news from a friend of mine. I haven't actually met the guy, but he's one of the most important people in my life. I think of him as my Wegener's buddy. He contacted me on Myspace a few years ago. His story with the disease is not entirely dissimilar to mine, though he's had a little more trouble with it than I have. The important thing is that we both kind of have the same attitude about it. It was an absolute godsend for me to find someone around my same age who knew what I was (am) going through.

One of the worst things about getting diagnosed (for both of us, really) was the mental aspect of the whole thing. Neither of us was particularly comfortable asking for help from our friends and family, but it's hard impossible to deal with the thing alone. It's not that we didn't feel like our friends and family would want to help, it's just.... Well, my family was going through the suckiness right along with me so it was hard to burden them with my own issues. And my friends couldn't (most of them... all of them?... still can't) really truly understand what I was going through.

It was awesome to find someone who really Got IT. I don't actually even talk to him all that often, but it's nice to know that someone is out there who understands exactly what it's all like. I am so grateful that he's out there.

I e-mailed him earlier this month with my good news. He wrote back congratulating me and then he told me that he has relapsed.

That absolutely breaks my heart. He'd been in remission for about for, I think, 6 or 7 years. Now he's back on all the awful meds and....

I'm not sure where I wanted to go with this. I'm just really bummed to hear that he's not doing well. If you do the prayer thing, say one for him. Otherwise, cross your fingers, wish on a star, do whatever you do to send him luck. And take a moment to appreciate how incredibly lucky you are to have good health.

Patriotic Whatever

Hey! Guess what I did today! I voted! Woot!

Yes, I "avoided the lines" and voted early. I stood in line for about half an hour to do it too. Funny thing is the place I usually vote usually doesn't have much of a line at all. All the news people seem to think that there will be tons o' folks voting on Tuesday though, so maybe I did avoid a long wait.

Best Laid Plans

So, I'm talking to my friend Meagan on the instant messenger thingy. She's feeling spiteful toward this guy she was dating over the summer... we'll call him Joe. Joe is in Florida, Meagan is not. Anyway, she's a little miffed at him and feeling spiteful.

I mentioned, um, Fred, in my last post. We're slightly annoyed with him. Yesterday Meagan suggested beating him over the head with his own ankles. At first I was hesitant to do any beating of Fred, because, frankly, he's not really worth it. However, the picture of him getting beat over the head with his own ankles was sufficiently comical to persuade me that it was actually a good idea.

Back to the present. We, being in somewhat spiteful moods, formulated a plan. This is it: We are going to go to FL and beat Joe over the head with Fred's ankles. We need the following supplies: 3 plane tickets (the third is not for Fred, but for Celcey, who is our third half), a bag for carrying ankles, new beating-people-over-the-head outfits with matching shoes. We're going to obtain these supplies with magic money that has just now poofed into our bank accounts. Isn't magic convenient?

You might be scratching your head at this point and saying to your computer "But, Cassie, don't you think Fred might be a little upset with you taking his ankles to Florida without him?"
The answer is: yes, I think he might be. If he really wants to come to FL, he may. But only his ankles can go to Joe's house for the beating over the head.

That's all. For now. Have a good night!

Oh Hi

Remember me? I'm your friendly neighborhood blogger. I just realized how very long it has been since I posted. I'm actually surprised that I haven't had any complaints from the regular rabble rousers. Perhaps they've been just as busy as I and therefore have not missed my silly rambling. Yes, the excuse I am using for my being remiss with the blogging is that my non-digital life is keeping me very busy. What have I been busy doing? Activities include, but are not limited to (in a martini-glassed list):

Attending Plays (My Fair Lady and Hands of Sodom), the Opera (Madame Butterfly), and a symphony concert (not the Utah Symphony for once, but the Sandy City Orchestra. They were quite good. A friend of mine plays the flute and piccolo for them)





Attending a Swing Dance Invitational event thingy - The even included a competition between college swing clubs. Each club sent two couples. I was a back up for the U (one of the girls was having back problems so she wasn't sure she would be able to dance). I didn't end up competing, but I had fun there anyway. Actually (this is totally me just tooting my own horn), I was told by two really good dancers that I really should have been dancing for my school. One of them told me I am the best dancer that the U swing club has. I don't know that I agree with him, but it was awesome to hear. I promise I won't let it go to my head too much.

Kind of, sort of, potentially, starting a flirtation/dating thing with this kid... we'll call him Fred. And by kid, I mean guy. He's actually one year older than me, I think. As of Saturday, things have fizzled with him. I met Fred through a mutual friend, and thought he was kind of cute. After some flirting and a little encouragement from the mutual friend and Fred himself, I was all ready to see where it was going to go, and he seemed not completely uninterested. Things looked promising for a while, but then it all went to shit. Turns out Fred is kind of a flake. He basically stood me up on Friday, and then didn't get why I was upset with him. We don't hate him, though we would be completely justified in doing so. It's kind of sad that nothing came of that, but probably for the best. To be fair, I'm not really rolling in free time, and neither is he, so the whole new relationship thing may have been just burden for both of us. Of course, it could have also been a fun way to revieve some stress. Oh well, in any case, it's done.

Doing the school thing, which is totally kicking my ass. I'm so unused to being in school full time and it's really hard. I'm barely keeping up with my homework, and I'm not really enjoying my classes as much as I would like to be. It's not that they are bad classes, it's just that with the amount of work I have to do for them.... Getting everything done is a little stressful, add that to trying to work enough to have some spending money and still have some semblance of a social life.... It's a little stressful. I also don't seem to be able to convince myself that it is wise to go to bed early when I have class at 8:35 in the morning. So I go to said class very tired which makes paying attention difficult. I'm pretty sure that for Spring I'm going to take 3 classes at the most. It might take longer for me to graduate that way, but at least I wont destroy myself in the process. It's weird, in high-school being a student, and a good one at that, was pretty natural for me. I seem to have lost my touch.

Doing the work thing. I still love my job, but I would really like to get hired on at one of the libraries and stop doing the sub thing. I imagine it's only a matter of time.





Doing the dancing thing. I go swing dancing at least once a week - Thursdays- these days. I usually try to get out on Saturday too. I know that a lot of my friends (the old ones anyway, this doesn't so much apply to my new friends who I've met through dancing) don't understand why I go so much. I can see how it might seem kind of like an obsession, and maybe it is. If I had time, I would go dancing every Friday too. And next month I'm going to make time in my busy schedule to take a 4 week lindy class. The thing is, I really like dancing. I mean, really like it. I can think of few things I would rather do. When you find something you really love doing, doesn't it make sense to do that thing?

And that just about sums up everything that has kept me from blogging lately. I'll try to do better in the future. I know the longer I go without blogging the harder it is to get back in the habit, so I might as well not get out of the habit. That way everybody wins. In other news, I'm totally looking forward to Halloween. It is, after all, my favourite holiday. And it's just around the corner. Next weekend and the weekend after that are already full of festivities. Unfortunately, I don't think I'm going to have time to pull together the costume I was planning on (I had plans to go as Daria) because I just don't have time to hunt down all the necessary pieces. My back up plan: I'm going to wear a toga (what self-respecting college student does not have a toga?) and go as Cassandra. Get it? Cuz my name is Cassandra. It's funny.

Doncha Wish Your Girlfriend was Hot Like Me?

Guess what I did last night! I danced. With a pole. Yep. Pole Dancing. It was girls night out and we all went to a dance studio and learned how to pole dance from a real live stripper!

It was so much fun! And an amazing work out. I can barely move my arms today because they are so sore.

Do Your Part

This is a great video that's been going around the interwebs:



If you haven't registered yet, go out and do it now! With the country going to shit, it irresponsible to not pay attention to what's going on in Washington. I'm not the most political person you'll ever meet, but I'm following the news and forming my own opinions. It's time my generation sat up and started to give a damn about our future.

Getting Ink

I'm blogging about my creative writing class again. The teacher guy recently collected our "writing journals" and today he gave them back, complete with his comments on what we had written.

There was one day I was feeling lazy and simply scribbled all over the page. I justified it as a "poem without language" by adding this quote from a Saussure essay I had to read in another class:

Without language, thought is a vague, uncharted nebula. There are no pre-existing ideas,
and nothing is distinct before the appearance of language.

What makes me laugh a little is the comment left in the margin beside this quote: "You should get this as a tattoo"

Granted, it is a very nice thought. I enjoy the concept and it's very well articulated. It even suits me, I think. As you all probably know by now, I'm a big fan of language and am very interested in finding just the right way to express my thoughts, ideas, feelings etc. I probably wouldn't mind having that tattooed somewhere... maybe on my back? I just think it's funny that it was the first place the prof went.

Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, I absolutely love the idea of getting words tattooed somewhere. I like the idea of being able to read a person, literally, like a book. But the problem is, what could you get tattooed that would fit you for the rest of your life? If I picked a poem or a quote that I absolutely love today, that fits my entire philosophy on life and means a great deal to me now, who's to say it would still fit five or ten years down the road? Even if I choose something, wait and think about it for a year or two (which may seem extreme, but I for something that will be on my body for the rest of my life, I think that it's perfectly reasonable to do so) and it still is a perfect as I originally thought it was, I can't know that I will still even like it when I'm 50 and have twice as much life experience as I do now.

It's also possible that the meaning of whatever was inked would be diminished simply by having it with me all the time. To be faced with it every day, and to have to explain it to everyone who got close enough to read me, would leach all the specialness out of the words. Eventually they would start to feel like my own personal cliche. So maybe, to prevent that, it should be something that doesn't really mean much.

I don't know. I'm sure I'm over-thinking this way too much. Like I said, I really like the idea of getting words tattooed. Maybe one day I'll actually go out and do it. I will leave you with a question: If you were to get a quote/poem tattooed, what would you get and where would you put it? Or if you already have something, share that.

Neon Green Chuck Taylors

One of the classes eating up my time this semester is Creative Writing. It's actually pretty cake, it's just intro and is kind of a fun nothing class. For this class I have to keep a "writing journal" - different from my regular journal, or an online journal (which is also known as a blog) - and write in it at least 10 minutes a day. This is probably the most helpful thing the class is doing for me because it's forcing me to get into the habit of writing regularly again. However, because I haven't really been writing, I sometime have a hard time coming up with something to write about. To cure this malady, I went through my old writing journals (they seem pretty standard in Creative writing classes) for inspiration in the form of old prompts/exercises/formulas etc. Among a lot of drivel and some useful bits I found an poem, pasted in, that Sam Clarke wrote about me.

Sam was a kid I met at Writers@Work- a week long writing workshop thing held in the summer. They had a program for regular adult writers and also one for high school students. I went to it at least two summers, as did Sam. The poem he wrote about me was nothing like you would expect (certainly not a love poem) - it was about my hand. We had done a workshop earlier that day in which we were supposed to write about someone's hands in this certain formulaic way. He hadn't written his poem. We were hanging out later that day and I was giving him crap for not writing when that was the point of all of us being there. He said that he couldn't think of a hand to write about. I offered him mine, left it on his ankle and moved on to another conversation.

The poem he wrote (I don't have it with me as I'm writing this) was fairly decent. I was super flattered and amused by it. I asked him for a copy the next year and it still makes me smile when I read it.

Every now and then I wonder what happened to Sam. I don't honestly remember much about him. He was kind of a skinny, pale kid with dark hair. He wore chuck taylor high tops that were bright green. Not kelly green, or grass green, but bright, neon, highlighter green. They looked like they should glow in the dark (they didn't, I asked him). He played the clarinet, I think.

Of all the people I met at W@W, Sam is pretty much the only person I really remember. Maybe it's just because he wrote a poem about me. I recall we got along well though, and I like to think that he was a brief friend from that little sliver of my life. I wonder if I were to track him down if he would remember me at all.

It's kind of funny how some people stick with you. Even if you just knew them for a week or so.

Think Happy Thoughts

This week is a very special week. That's right, kids, it's Vasculitis Awareness Week. As most of my long time readers (what are there, 2 of you?) know, I have vasculitis in the form of Wegener's Granulomatosis.

I already told my story here last year, so I wont go into it again. I gave y'all links if you don't know about it. I do have awesome news though! Last week I went to the doctor for my bi-annual visit, just to make sure nothing scary is coming back. Everything checked out, no surprise there. The good part is that Doc told me that he only needs to see me once a year now.

Ok, that doesn't sound like such a big deal, does it? But that's really just about as close to a clean bill of health that I can get. I'm pretty damn happy to be seeing my doctor 50% less frequently. Not that he isn't nice, but, you know.

Other good news is that I am only about 6 months away from being in full remission for 5 years! Super excited about this! Thus the exclamation points! I mentioned this to my doctor and he said, hesitantly, that it is possible that I won't ever have a relapse. He didn't have any statistics to quote me, but there are some cases with WG that people go into remission and stay there for the rest of their life. It's a slim chance, but it's a chance just the same. Let's hope that I'm one such case.

Buckle your Swash

It be international talk like a pirate day, maties. Hoist the Jolly Roger and bring forth the rum! Arrrr!

Mmmmm Pi

On my way home from school today I was thinking about π and the arbitrary nature of things. Π is a pretty important number. It pops up over an over in mathematics concerning the relationship of things in nature. It’s also an irrational number. Strange that something so important would be irrational.

But why is it irrational, really? Yeah, it can't be reduced to a simple fraction and has all those non-repeating decimals, but really, what it all boils down to that π is 3.14 blah blah blah because we have arbitrarily assigned our number system to be based on 1.

What if π was our basic unit? How would that change things? If our number system were set up so that π=1, or rather that 1= the Circumference of a circle divided by its diameter. For one thing, circles would be a lot easier. It could be done. Or rather, it could have been done. Once upon a time when whoever was inventing numbers and math, what if they saw that π was an important number and decided to base the entire number system on that?

One only means one to us because that's what we believe. It's what we've been taught, that's the significance that has been assigned to that particular unit by society, by people. It could have just as easily been assigned to π. If π had been assigned as our basic unit, as 1, it wouldn't actually change the world we live in much at all. Ok, it was totally fuck math, but we'd be used to it by now, and we'd have a totally rational number to explain the relationships of circles.

I wonder though, if that's how we saw the world - where π was the basis of our number system, if we would See things differently? I think this is something to think about while staring at the ceiling and just letting my mind wander. It's kind of a mind-fuck. Sadly, I don't have time. I have to do stuff for school.

Gardens

When I reach the stage of my life when I need a wheel barrow. It absolutely will not be red.

Furthermore, it will in no way be glazed with rain. And there will certainly not be any white chickens.

Take that William Carlos Williams!

Nothing would depend on a freeking red wheel barrow if he hadn't said that it did. Four bloody words at the beginning of that poem and all of a sudden it's so bloody brilliant that it has to show up in every single English/Writing class.

It's worse than Wallace Stevens and his blackbirds.

Maybe I'm just grumpy because I didn't get to sleep much last night.

Teach a Man to Fish

I'm pretty sure that my eighth grade English teacher came into the library where I was working today. I didn't talk to him because I was busy helping someone else, but I would have liked to say something.

He wasn't even my actually English teacher. He was a student teacher, or something like that. He basically taught the second half of the class while our actual teacher sat in back of the room doing who knows what. We spent a lot of time reading/studying Watership Down and we also did poetry.

Jeff Baird (that was his name, and I'm totally ok with using it because a- I doubt he'll ever run across this little blog o' mine and b- he deserves some credit) was really the first teacher I had who really influenced the course of my life. Mr. Baird did so by encouraging me to write and making me think that the silly peoms I wrote were any good. It's pretty much soley because of him that I ever thought I could write.

Granted, I'm not some famous authoress or anything. It would be fun to say "I'm a famous poet and it all started with this one great teacher." Who knows, maybe some day I will be able to say that. But Mr. Baird's influence is none the less prevelant. I mean, I am majoring in English with a focus on Creative Writing and I am a published writer, even if it is just in silly little lit mags.

Anyway, seeing him made me think about the impact some teachers have. I'm incredibly grateful for the encouragement I recieved from him. I hate to use a worn out cliche, but I wouldn't be who I am today if it weren't for that class and this amazing teacher.

Running, Jumping, Climbing Trees

The problem with going on adventures is that I get busy doing that and can't find time to blog about it. This wouldn't really be a problem (because living life is better than writing about it any day) except my readers seems to get cranky if I don't post often enough. It's both flattering and annoying.

Anyway, this last weekend I was as far from my computer as I can get, sort of. I went camping at Dead Horse Point with a bunch of friends. It was a lot of fun. I learned something about myself: my idea of camping is not exactly compatible with other people.

When I go camping, I like to take as little as possible and spend as much time as I can hiking and exploring. Especially being where we were, with Dead Horse Point, Canyonlands and Arches right at our fingertips, my ideal weekend would have been getting up early, having a quick breakfast, packing a lunch and hiking until I couldn't walk and then doing it again the next day.

I understand that it's a little unreasonable to expect a group of 8 people to really be able to do that, but this weekend was almost the complete opposite of that. We did manage to get up early, but then it took 2 hours for us all to make and eat breakfast each day. Breakfast tended to consist of something elaborate and messy (albeit delicious) that used up every dish we brought. Then some of the people I was with couldn't handle hiking more than about 5 miles a day. I feel like I spent most of the first day hopping from foot to foot waiting to get out hiking and then being disappointed by the silly little walks we went on.

That's a little bit of an exageration, but it really was frustrating. At some point I decided to take a zen approach to it all and just go with what the group wanted to do. I was still a little understimulated, but I managed to have fun anyway. It was sort of neat to do the more touristy side of Arches- we usually don't bother with all that. It was also kind of nice to force myself to sit still for a while and just do nothing while everyone else was dinking around. Plus it's always rejuvenating to get down to southern Utah.

Here's the whole gang:

Flush it Down!

Remember when the internet was still kind of novel? You know, before facebook and myspace made it that much easier to spam your friends. Back when it was really cool (or at least it passed the time) to spend hours taking personality quizzes online, and maybe even e-mail them to your friends. No? Oh. Well. Fine. But back in Jr High (or maybe it was early high school) I wasted a lot of time online taking stupid quizzes.

Most of them I don't really remember. They would ask a series of questions and then show a generic profile that omigod was, like, so totally accurate and, like, exactly what I was like. Or some of them would offer you 5 colors or something and tell you what amazing profound thing the color you picked meant. Really dumb stuff like that.

There is one quiz from all those many years ago that has actually stuck with me. You are going to laugh at me when I tell you about it. Basically, showed a diagram of a public restroom with three stalls and asked which one you would usually chose to use, assuming that they are all available and not-gross. Whichever you chose supposedly revealed something rather profound about your personality. I don't remember which I picked or what it said about me, but the idea that bathroom stall preference says something about a person's personality intrigues me.

I'm actually sort of serious about this. Every other time I use a public restroom, I wonder what my choice of stall says about me. Then I briefly ponder if you could use that choice to make behavioral changes.

Say choosing the first stall means you live life in the fast lane, always rushing from activity to activity, doing as much as you can and packing every minute with fast paced excitement, and if choosing the second stall means you think of yourself as pretty average and middling, you don't mind some attention, but your more than happy to step aside and let someone else take the spotlight, and the third stall means you are super easygoing and don't really care what other people think, you roll with the punches and just sort of float through life taking whatever comes with a zen-like sense of calm. What if you are a pretty regular first-staller, but you want to calm down a little. Could conciously making an effort to use the third stall help calm you?

If I had time I could totally make this into some weird metaphor for some philosophical principal or something. Unfortunately, it's kind of late and I still have to read for class. Yep, school has started again, and this fall I'm playing the role of Full-Time-Student again. More on that later. In the mean time, take a moment to ponder what your bathroom habits really say about you, really.

What Goes Up Must Come Down

Remember how fantastically happy I was last week? It shouldn't be hard to remember, just scroll down. This week has kind of burst my bubble. Not that I'm super bummed now or anything, but the euphoria has definitely worn off. Basically a series of unfortunate events have seriously damaged my happy.

First of all, my car decided to break. It needed a new pump somewhere which set me back $300. That means I am low on teh cashy-monies so I can't go to the San Francisco Lindy Exchange in a couple weeks. This makes me sad, cuz I likes me some lindy.

Second! Last night I really wanted to go dance at the Golden Skillet (yes, it sounds like the name of a restaurant, but it's actually a good place to dance. Mostly because that's where the good dancers are). I haven't made it out there since I got back from Denver, so I feel like I'm losing all my super amazing dance mojo that I gained there. So I really wanted to go last night. But I was doing stuff with my parents until 10:30, which meant I wouldn't get out to the Skillet for another hour (I needed to get gas and visit the ATM before heading out there) and the dancing pretty much ends at 12:00. So I didn't go. Sad day.

Third (and last that I will mention) : I found out today that I didn't get the job I was hoping for. There was a 20 hour regular position open at one of the libraries I like best, and I was really hoping they would hire me. It would be nice with School to have a regular schedule and not have to drive all over the valley to sub at all the different libraries. The thing that really sucks about it all is the only reason they didn't hire me is that they just couldn't make my schedule work with the people they already have. They really tried, but there's only so much flexibility they have because there are a couple other people working there who have school or other jobs, so they work at the times I would be able to. What they need there is someone who can work when I'm in class. Super sad day.

I'm going to go out and have some serious fun tonight to blow off my disappointment with the universe. If you have any positive energy that you don't need, feel free to send it my way!

Flyin' High

I don't know what it is, but all week I've been in an unshakably good mood.

The best explanation I can think of is that I'm still riding the high from last weekend in CO. Something about spending a couple days really good dancing boosted up my confidence or something. I don't know what it is, but I've felt really great all week.

It hasn't even been that good a week. I've had some car trouble, I haven't been sleeping that well. I've been crazy busy and barely had time to get everything done (in fact, I did have to give a few small things up for lack of time). But all week I've been extremely happy. It's like I can't help but embrace everything that gets thrown at me. If I'm handed lemons, I make the best damn lemonade you've ever tasted.

It's hard to describe my mood. Telling you everything I've been doing wouldn't cut it... But this week is fantastic! And I wanted to get that thought out in the world.

Jump, Jive and Wail

Here's the breakdown

Where I was this weekend: Denver CO

When I got there: 1:00 am on Thursday

What I was doing: Lindy on the Rocks

What the hell is that: A weekend of swing dancing. Including classes all day Sat and Sun, plus dances all night.

Hours of Sleep each night: no more than 5

Hours spent dancing Friday: 7 or 8

Hours dancing on Sat (including classes): around 14

Hours dancing on Sun (including classes): around 11

Time I left Denver: 12:00 am Monday (After the Sunday dance. And it was so hard to leave! I would have liked to stay all night and gone to some of the unofficial after parties/dances)

When I had to let someone else drive because I couldn't keep my eyes open: 3:30 am

Number of Perseid meteors spotted: 2 while driving, 6 when we stopped for maybe 5 minutes to change drivers

Time we got back to SLC: 7:45 Monday morning

Lindy Crushes: Too many to count! There was Eric, who was so much fun to dance with. Benjamin, who was just really cute. Peter Strom, who was one of the instructors (this is more of a celebrity lindy crush. He's a brilliant dancer... and a total dream boat)

What I did on Monday: Slept. All day.