Uh, you're doing it wrong.

It was requested that I write a post about kissing. Well, there was more to that request, but I don't think I'll completely oblige the requestee.

But if you think about it--and I mean really think about it--kissing is just...weird. I mean, what's more romantic than swapping spit and germs and all manner of grossness with someone else you (hopefully) really like. Spend a minute to think about that. Makes you want to run to the bathroom and brush your teeth--or throw up.

Well, I present you something else that may make you want to throw up. I love Ellen. She's hilarious. (I really hope that she's still on when I'm ridiculously rich and stay home all day so that I can watch her.) Anyway, I ran across this and found it hilarious. And disturbing. And all sorts of weird.



You back from the bathroom? Yeah. That bride was a bit...aggressive. She, apparently, doesn't watch enough chick flicks to know that kissing does indeed include "less chewing." She married a man, not a chew toy.

And just so the requestee isn't completely disappointed by the lack of information in this post, I knew before this video what a good (and bad) kiss is. And I've been perfecting it in the past six weeks.

"A kiss can be a comma, a question mark, or an exclamation point. That's basic spelling that every woman ought to know."
-Jeanne Bourgeois

A Decade of Change.

I didn’t understand what terrorism was. I didn’t understand war. War was something that my grandfather fought in—30 years ago. America was safe. Something as big as Pearl Harbor would never occur here again—at least not in my lifetime. Things like this just don’t happen to me.

Eighth grade. Mrs. Filsinger’s algebra II class. I think it was the first class of the day. We were taking a test. Mrs. Filsinger received a phone call. It was a wrong number; someone was trying to reach some other teacher, but they told Mrs. Filsinger what was going on. Immediately, she turned on the TV, which was right above my head, and called her daughter in Maryland. In my small mind, I was bugged that my teacher had turned on what seemed to be a movie when I was trying to finish my test. My classmates had turned their attention to the events unfolding. I just wanted a good grade.

I don’t know when it clicked that this was a big deal. (Things like this just don’t happen to me, remember?) I didn’t know what the Twin Towers were. I had never been to NYC, at least not that I remembered. I didn’t understand it. But it eventually clicked. It may have been when the plane hit the Pentagon; that was D.C. I knew D.C. very well. It may have been when I went home and watched to footage of the jumpers from the towers. I was home alone and felt scared; terrified of the future.

I’ve seen the gaping hole in the Pentagon. I’ve walked the hallowed ground in NYC where thousands of people died on that fall day. I’ve walked among the millions of wishes, notes, gifts and sadness left by people of all backgrounds for those who sacrificed. They didn’t ask to die for their country. They didn’t ask to be made exemplars. They wanted to live their lives. They wanted to love their families. They just wanted to BE.

But even ten years later, I don’t understand. I don’t understand why killing makes peace. Why hatred brings people to strap bombs to themselves and kill not only them, but also hundreds of other innocent strangers. I don’t understand why families have to endure the worry of knowing their son or daughter or husband or wife or brother or sister is in danger, half a world away, and the pain of holding that folded flag.

I do know that I am grateful. I am grateful for those recognize and appreciate the importance and sacred value of our country and freedom. I am grateful for those who have enough courage to protect that freedom for people they will never meet, in a countries across the world. It is the most Christ-like service: to give of yourself for people who cannot do it themselves. Christ protected us from sin and its consequences; our military men protect us from terrorism and destruction.

I’m not a terribly emotional person, but since September 11, 2001, I am that person who gets choked up singing or hearing the nation anthem. Seeing others show respect to all who made America possible brings me to tears. At college, my favorite part of the day was when the national anthem played throughout campus while the flag was taken down. I loved seeing the response it brought. It was disappointing to see those who didn’t respect this special time. Even if they were foreigners, this song was for them. They just didn’t understand. They didn’t understand how this single song represents hundreds of years of struggle, heartache, death and pure inspiration to bring about this nation.

The patriotism that America experienced following the attacks was overwhelming. Most homes in my home town displayed an American flag. People grouped together in the fight to protect America. But where is it now? It’s been smothered by technology, sports, debt and materialism. It’s been smothered by a hatred for a president and by 10 years of war and the sorrows and bitterness it brings. But we are a blessed country. We have so much compared to others in the world. We have so much to be grateful for and to.

I believe in America and its people. I believe that we are a great nation. However, I also believe that we are a great nation in trouble. We have forgotten our roots. We have forgotten why America is great. We are not grateful enough. Our nation was built on the principles of freedom and justice “to form a more perfect union.” I’ve seen that original document and believe in it and those who were inspired to write it.

We have potential. We have greatness. We must rise to the ever-present occasion. I hope we all remember that and know that even in one of the darkest times of our nation’s history, we were able to come together, grow and move forward. Let’s keep moving forward and only look back to remember and learn. America will only be great if its people are great.

Be great and remember how you’re here.

Taking Chances

Hey, Caution!

So, I threw you to the wind a couple of days ago. I really hope that you do not come back and slap me in the face. That would not be cool.

And you and my brain should have a long talk. It's overthinking everything. The two of you should get on same wavelength as my heart. Because I'm going to try and start listening to that more.

*cue Celine Dion music*

Adulting.

Hold. the. phone.

Who said that could happen? Not me. I'm not an adult. I'm still 18, right?

Sadly, I think I am adulting. I'm inching my way into my mid-twenties. I realized this on my birthday. I'm twenty-old. Seriously.

Okay, so it's not so dramatic as I'm making it out to be. My nieces and nephews are probably the only people who consider me old. But I've never felt so old as I have this week.

I've gone to bed before midnight three times in one week. And I'm still tired.

So it's not a big deal. It's actually just the responsible thing to do. But isn't being an adult about being responsible? Well, here are the adult things I've done this week:

1. Went to bed before midnight (one was at 10:30 pm).
2. Got my sister settled in to her dorm and talked about college in the past tense ("When I took American Heritage..." or "They didn't have that when I was here.")
3. Almost stopped at the Alumni booth just to say I had. But I really just wanted the brownie, so this doesn't really count.
4. Woke up at 6:15 am on a Saturday (granted, I had gone to bed at 1:30 am, so that wasn't very responsible of me, especially since I was grumpy the whole day)
5. Almost went into a museum, by myself, because I wanted to.
6. Went into a clothing store that had an extra 50% off EVERYTHING and didn't buy anything--even though I really wanted to. However, if my bank transfer was complete, I'd be all over that.
7. Played chauffeur to two different people in one day. Actually, this is just mom-ish. But I did volunteer to do it, so it's kind of different. Plus, I don't have a mom car.
8. Showed up 5 minutes early to church, which hasn't happened since they moved us to a building 10 minutes away.

I really wanted to make this list an even 10, but I ran out of things. And the whole time I was typing this, I had Miss Temple in my head. Whew, it's a good thing I missed that whole 21 thing though.

Home is wherever I'm with you.

I don’t go for cutsy stuff very much. I mean, no pictures of cats or dogs. Babies should ALWAYS be clothed during a photo shoot. (Home pictures are a different story.) I don’t even like to use the word “cute.” Everything from babies to boys to buttons is described as being “cute.” Let’s be a little creative here. And I don’t care if you think your kid is the most adorable thing or so unbelievably talented; chances are they really aren’t. (But it’s good that you think so, because you have to live with them for the next 50 years or so.)

But every once in awhile there will come a good video with kids that defies the odds. I’m thinking of classics like this one. And this one is just ridiculously amusing. And if you haven’t seen this hilarious video series, where have you been living for the past five months? (And for the record, I hate the “Charlie bit my finger” video. It’s dumb.)

But this video is probably one of the most adorable things to hit YouTube. I love it and the song. Even though it’s a love song, it works very well as a father-daughter song. Watch it and you’ll see.

To the Phlebotomist

(AKA guy who took my blood today),

You were really nice. And actually pretty good looking. And when you asked that fatal question, you had no chance.

You asked what people normally ask when they find out I’m a transplant: “How do you like Utah?”

I tried to warn you.

“Are you sure you really want to know?”

You were polite and smiled and said, “It’s okay. I’m not a local.”

Well, that was your mistake. Actually, it was my mistake to not just nip the initial question in the bud and say, “Oh, it’s fine,” just like everyone does.

Instead, I gave you an earful that probably more than you ever wanted to know. And with each word that came out, I could feel the chances of you asking for my number dwindling taking a sudden swan dive into the Pit of Despair.

You graciously listened to all my mumblings and ramblings. You, as a Californian, knew how Utah culture was different. You even said that you felt the same way before you moved closer to campus. What a kind soul you are to let a girl talk your ear off like that.

I just wanted to say that I’m really not that negative. You just caught when right after a tough day at work…okay, so maybe that’s not entirely true, but I was really tired and you had just stuck an uncomfortable needle into my arm. I really don’t remember everything I said; I just rambled on about nothing. Even your questions about my book, The Princess Bride, caught me off guard, and I muddled through the answers.

I’m really a fun person. Really. I know, like, five people who think I'm hilarious. Just don’t ask me about my work, my living situation, my social life or anything of the like; those answers aren’t positive ones. But I need to learn to not be so honest so I don’t chase off nice people like you.

So, here’s to you, guy who could have made me the subject of one awesome 80s song. I’m pledging to be more positive in my conversations. And then maybe next time you take my blood, it will be a more pleasant experience for the both of us.

Don't Make Me Divorce You

Dear unknown significant other of the distant yet eternal variety,

If you don't call me "wifey," I won't call you "hubby." Because "hubby" doesn't even make sense. It should really be "husby," but that just sounds worse.

"Babe" is also grounds for divorce.

Deal? Deal.

Cordially,

ME



*This post was not ripped from you, my friend. Though it may appear to be. :)
**I often think of rants in terms of "Dear ...."
***Shut up. I know I'm weird.

I survived.

I survived my first snowshoeing adventure.

I know you were all really worried. 'Cause I told you all of course. And you fear for my safety as anyone should.

I live in the most winter sport friendly area of the country, and I haven't so much as gone sledding in all these years. Mostly, I just admire the snow when it's falling and curse it when I had to walk or drive in it.

But now I have seen the error of my ways. Naturally.

But just as an FYI, it is best to keep to the trails. Not doing so and continuing to climb the mountain will leave your non-snow friendly pants (i.e. jeans) very wet. And if the snow underneath your foot gives way, it's best to just go with it, even if it means [gracefully] falling face first into the snow...in front of the whole group. AND if you can't get up, just kind of roll around until you're in a position to do so...again, in front of the whole group. Just FYI.

[Here I am during my survival trip. It was a bit chilly. And I dyed my hair for the occasion.]

In the words of Olivia Newton John...

And Sue Sylvester: "Let's get physical!"

Okay, so not physical that way. Unless you're thinking the eat healthy, exercise, and lose weight physical. Then that's exactly what I mean.

At the start of this year, I was zealous in my efforts to lose weight. My first shopping trip of the new year was filled with ingredients for a ton of healthy meals. I'm talking about sweet potatoes, oranges, apples, whole wheat bread, and beans. I found several sites to give me the motivation and help I needed. I determined that I would exercise (a little) more and eat about 1200 calories a day to help me out.

Well, that went okay for about a week. Minus that night I splurged on onion rings (frozen ones are gross, by the way). And I even went running. Once. And I may have walked most of that. And sat on a playground swing for awhile. But I logged my food faithfully for that week.

And then I lost steam last week. I still made my meals since I had all the ingredients. But I made those onion rings again (which were still gross). And had about 10 glasses of chocolate milk. BUT I only ate one piece of candy!

So, in order to motivate myself, I have told myself this:

If I exercise every day this week, I can watch season 5 of Lost.

Yep. I will allow myself to subscribe to darn Hulu Plus so that I can find out what happens to the Oceanic 6.

Much better than rewarding myself with some fattening fast food. Monday already has a check mark. We'll see how long I last.