Ugh

Today was the kind of day that eaves you writhing in emotional pain on your bedroom floor while making the most guttural and inhumane noises and whining about how horrible your day was, and being sad about missing friends and weddings and parties and then watching "Bridezilla" on TV to remind yourself that lots of people can be grouchy like you but that you hope you'll never be a huge bee-yatch like those ladies on TV and then you eat for the first time in forever and it tastes so good and then you watch some more TV and plan trips to Europe and Guatemala and then blog about it.

At least that's how I deal with days like today. T

Unsung Heroes of the Winter Season

In this season of love and thankfulness, I've been thinking about the people who don't get thanks - or at least not enough. This is the list I've come up with

1. Whoever cleans the snow off cars in car lots - That's hard work, and without them how would you stick one of those large novelty bows on your Christmas gift? I can imagine whoever does it...
...his biceps rippling 'neath the ripped sleeves that barely cover his bronzed shoulders; the coat he wore to work has long since been flung aside. He flips his thick, long, golden locks from his sweaty forehead and trudges onward in his thankless work. (This may or may not be loosely based on what I imagine a romance novel would be involving this guy - he hooks up with the single mother buying a minivan later).

2. The Elves and Mrs. Clause - From all of my research, which includes encyclopedias, wikipedias, and Claymation Christmas movies, these people do most of the work. I know Santa is the figure head, the leader, the Post Master General of the operation, but really who does all the work? It's like thinking that the Post Master General does all the sorting, delivering, etc.ing of mail - and he doesn't. I asked Robert, my mailman, about it, and he assured me that really that guy is a lazy son-of-a-gun. It's true.

3. Policemen and Kind Strangers - I've seen to encounter a plethora lately, which is a nice contrast to this. Yesterday my car got stuck in a gutter, and then three strangers stopped to push me out. At Costco, when I locked my keys in my car, the policeman was nice to me and invited me to sit in his car while he unlocked it for me - this was greatly appreciated in the subfreezing weather. He was quite grandfatherly.

4. I'm going home.

I like my body when it is with your body. It is so quite new a thing. Muscles better and nerves more.

So I've been pretty lame lately about seeing people; meaning that I haven't.

School has killed me like the ice age may (or may not) have wiped out thousands of species of reptilian ancestors.



I refuse to be the last dinosaur standing; hence, I am now going to be more proactive about hanging out with people. Starting now, I'm planning things again.

P.S. This kid in my class today said that Lion Park had "plentiful birds," and I was all, "WSTLT??!" (Who says things like that) and "WECATKOS?" (Who even cares about that kind of stuff). Apparently it's a good place for a cheap date, though.

P.P.S. I like e.e. cummings.

Puzzling Piece of Pouting People?

Also, I came into the SKWT computer lab to do some research. It was practically empty, and I chose the room in the back where no one comes so I wouldn't be distracted. A girl asked me to turn my iPod down. I did. She just got up and moved to another computer. I'm really not that loud.

It reminds me of when I was 11 and we had moved into a house with another family for a short while. I shared a room with the daughter, who was 2 years younger than me. At that time, music put me to sleep and I would listen to it nightly. She asked me to turn it down, and I would swear that it wasn't loud enough for her to hear. Evenutally I somehow figured that she was being overdramatic so I turned it all the way down to silent, but left it on so that little red light would make her think it was on. Sure enough, she complained and then I pounced and tore her feeble lie to shreds.

It was rough being 11.

Let's have two spotlights shining with all our work shown...

Giving people nutrition advice is such a high, it really should be illegal.

A perfect moment in a flash of light

My walk home last night was cold. Very cold.

I knew it would be, because it's now habit to let a big, long gush of air rush out my mouth and predict the weather for me. If I can barely see it, I know the trek will be tolerable. But when I can see so much that I feel like a train, I try to brace myself for the worst.

Walking south of the Wilk, I notice that the houses on the mountain look like little gingerbread houses; it should be on a Christmas postcard sent somewhere warm and snowless. Then some guy says, "Good evening" to me. I know he was being polite, but honestly who says good evening? The British, butlers, and Count Dracula.

The BYU Smokestack intrigues me. I watch the steam rise from it and wish for the zillionth time that I had some rappelling equipment to climb that tower. Back to how cold I am. This, for some reason, makes me think of Russia circa whenever the Anastasia movie was made. Would I wear those funny hats and do that funny dance? Probably, because it sound so much warmer than I am now. My lower jaw is moving up and down faster than a Camaro on hydrolics.

I pass J Dawgs, and wonder if they'd let me stand for a few minutes in exchange for my iPod, or my left hand (since I'll obviously lose it to frostbite anyway). Then I continue on my path home. I always choose the side of the street that's icy because the sun never really hits it; I've been walking this path for more than a year, and yet I still can't get it right. No falls today, good day.

The last few blocks home, thinking of warm soup keeps me going. I get my keys ready 5 minute early so there's no delay in getting in. I can practically feel the warm lights, and the foot tall tinsel tree in our living room.

The point is it was cold.

(It's also the first day of December and I love Christmas and I just ordered this and am really excited to make candies and give out presents and hugs).