every pot has a lid

i bought the card, now i just need the guy to send it to.
Over the past few months I have thought a lot about blogging. Remember when I used to blog somewhat regular? Remember when I had funny NEW stories I hadn't already worn out? Yeah, me too, those were the good old days...

So I started thinking, "self, why are you so lame and can't think of anything to write?!" realized: 1. I don't leave my house super often and 2. I was in a horrible relationship that never seemed to end and therefore wasn't hitting my yearly quota of two perfectly awkward, blog worthy, dates. And with that, I realized I am only as funny as the people I hangout with and I obviously need to get out of my house more.

Technically I have been single for six months but it only feels like a few weeks and honestly has only been a few days of complete freedom. I think because of this super drawn out breakup (I made it clear we were done, but he didn't quite get the memo...) I had a hard time trying to relate to anyone let alone members of the opposite sex. Now I am free and feel fantastic (a friend commented just yesterday that i look the happiest she has seen me in months) i feel like it is time to jump back into that thing we like to call the dating pool, even if I only catch my semi-annual awkward date (which in all honesty, I am very over due for so halfway expect at least 5 in my near future). And this is where I come to my main point: how the hell does anyone find anyone to date let alone marry???

We all are bombarded with social media and see all our friends dating and getting married and getting remarried and having babies. For the most part, I get it. Then I see those people who are of the difficult type and i think, "how is it that you found your one in a million so fast?! I swear that I have at least a handful of options that could work--a lid to my wonky pot--but your pot only has 3 sides and doesn't hold water yet you found that ONE magical lid that fits? HOW DID YOU DO IT?! What pond are you swimming in?!" And yes, I realize I am not a unicorn in the dating world--a girl that is super hotttttt and not crazy. I do have some crazy and I do come with my own bag of issues but at least I have most of my life together and can hold coherent conversations.

i can bake, so maybe i should try it as a wooing tactic.
right now i am just under the impression it tells a guys i am trying too hard.
is it because i do weird things like make personal size cakes?!
So where is this magical pool where you find your match? Because I want to find it! I have grown up my whole life with people telling me it is church but I am beginning to seriously doubt these people. I mean, there are some great guys at church that I would LOVE to go out with, but I haven't figured out how to make that happen (to be completely honest, the last time I was actually 'asked out' was in 2012 by a guy on the New York subway. He turned out to be super creepy, surprise!) My sister Mallory would tell me that I just need to whip up a dessert, take it over and say, "um, I like you... here's a peach cobbler..." I will admit, she did have great success with this but I just can't grasp it. I also run into this horrible predicament of: I REALLY need friends (reference paragraph 2, I never get out and have been involved in crazy lately) so I am terrified of being an adult and saying, "hey I might like you, lets try going out" for fear they will freak out--because they aren't interested--and there sails our friend-ship. So how do I get these guys to man up and take me out? And when I say I am interested it simply means I am interested in seeing if we have anything in common, not I want to marry them tomorrow. I mean come on, I am the queen of the first date--not second date--they really have nothing to fear... I think that we are so afraid of commitment these days that we feel like we have to have our thoughts all put together on a person just to ask them out once.

maybe i should use this photo on tinder, see the wind wiping through my hair?!
and my teeth look so straight!
Then there is the other social media idea that everyone and their dog has been throwing my way as a legit dating service: Tinder. And let me just get this out, "TINDER TERRIFIES ME!" For one, I get super stressed at the idea that I cannot move on to a new profile until I decide yes or no on someone. What if they really are a nice guy but they decided to put a lame tagline like "I promise to make you laugh?" Sir, I make myself laugh, you don't have to provide the service like it's rarity. And then there is my profile, you only get like 500 characters to describe yourself. I have been running this blog for years and it isn't done describing me! Once you get past the profile editing and the swiping you get to the match and chat option. I have only ever replied to two types of messages on any web dating platform: the messages that are so off or weird that I have to set a person straight (then promptly delete them) and the one time I found a long lost friend on Tinder, we reconnected and it was great. All those other messages that start with "run away with me," or "hey beautiful" make me want to vomit in my mouth and change all my photos to dogs with mustaches or unicorns pooping glitter so they will never think of me as a match.

And so here I sit, desperately wanting to meet guys that are normal and boringly stable--that think I am funny and hopefully a little bit attractive-- but not having a clue how to do it. There are slues of guys who are in their late twenties/early thirties in my area but I just can't seem to crack them. Perhaps it is because I am that girl that when nervous becomes annoyingly chatty in large groups when a guy I am crushing on is present or because I don't understand texting and how it relates to dating. I end latching on to texting as a legit form of communication (which it isn't) in a last ditch effort to win them with my wit and end up overwhelming the poor lads. And, no one knows exactly how to read interest levels in texting. I don't know how much you normally text! I don't know if that supposed to be funny or serious! I don't know the appropriate amount of time to wait before replying so you won't think I'm clingy and/or desperate! I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO THINK OR HOW TO READ IT!

The moral of my story: let's go on a date! Or, if you are one of those people that is flooding my feed with photos of you and your perfect fitting lid, set me up with your friends! Even if the only reason is "hey, he is single and YOU are single so naturally this should work" because at least I will get some much needed blogging ammo out of it. And dinner, tell them they HAVE to buy me dinner. Or they can take me to the nicklecade because sometimes that is much better than the food I have been fed on dates.

27 going on 17

For years i liked to do a year review on my birthday--which is oh so convenient since my birthday is in January--but this year i decided to change things up. I have noticed lately that people don't seem to know things about be that i thought i tell everyone. So... this year we are doing the top 27 things about me.

1. Lately, i have been desperately trying to figure out how to look like an full-fledged adult in their late twenties. I have tried wearing lipstick, for real hairstyles, stilettos, non-costume jewelry, and even the daily dose of makeup. It hasn't helped in the slightest. Just last month i was asked how old i was when my sister was buying movie tickets for her kids, THE KID AGE IS 12! This trumps when i was asked if i was old enough to sit in the exit row of an airplane when i was 23 (you have to be 15) or when TSA asked if i was a minor when i was 25. Needless to say it also has totally thwarted my dating life because all the guys i would be interested in are around 30 and are not interested in the barely legal.

2. I sleepwalk. It doesn't happen every night but it does happen. I do it the most when other people are awake and i slightly interact with them in a very creepy non verbal way with lots of hand motions.

3. When i was 19 i ran a bed and breakfast in Nauvoo, Illinois. It was not the ideal establishment and
very poorly run, but it did fulfill a life long dream of being involved in a B&B.

4. Speaking of B&Bs, my new life goal is to save enough money to open my own by the time I am 30. It combines all my odd talents (cooking, organization, business, design, being ocd with details, cleaning) with my insane collection of kitchenware. I have wanted to do this for a decade and i finally decided, why not now?!

5. My sister's refer to my closet as the Bernstein Bears Closet because it creepily mimics their book on organization. I hate closet doors and if my bedroom has them i remove them, it is always the space in my house that is the most esthetically pleasing.

6. I have never been especially good at learning languages except for counting. For years i would count my steps in French, mostly when walking in parking lots.

7. I spoke at my college (BYU) convocation ceremony. I talked about why i am an artist and of course included a smattering of childhood artwork including a piece i entitled, "Girl Dinosaur in a Purple Bra." The administration wanted me to remove it from my PowerPoint because it made them
'feel uncomfortable,' but i of course didn't.

8. I only wear glasses because i have one lazy eye. I can't control its wandering and since most people find it unsettling when you are only looking at them with one eye, i wear glasses. Contacts aren't an option since they won't correct it.

9. I have never been able to picture myself as being married or having kids. This doesn't mean that i am not interested in it, just that i have never planned my life around it or gone into that completely normal phase of life where i am depressed that my eggs might dry up before i finally find a non-crazy counterpart. Even as a kid i knew i wasn't the marrying young type since i once wrote in my journal, "when i'm married, or thirty..."

10. One of my life goals is to be involved in an episode of the radio program This American Life.
Surely they have to find the story about my dad stealing a B-17 bomber as a teenager radio worthy. And if they prefer something about dating, like how a boy broke both arms while trying to flirt with me, i got that covered too.

11. I have a lime addiction. I most likely consumed over 200 limes last year alone.

12. I worked at BYU Recycling in college and drove a forklift daily. I once had a palette of around 20 bricks of crushed pop cans dropped on me by an incompetent coworker which sliced my arm in three places causing blood to run down my arm and off my hand.

13. I have been to: Mexico, Canada, France, Belgium, Holland, Thailand, Cambodia, Japan, New Zealand, and Australia.

14. In the four months i lived in NYC i: lost all my money to the IRS, stayed in six different places, had nine visitors, saw six broadway shows, and survived Hurricane Sandy by fleeing to Philly an hour before the all trains stopped running.

15. I have had surgery on my: eyes, tonsils, wisdom teeth, hip, knees, and ankle. I have also: dislocated an elbow, dislocated a hip (which i walked on for a week at age 10), broken my wrist, knocked out two teeth and had two head wounds.

16. When i was ten i was in a flash flood with five of my siblings while hiking in Northern Idaho. We walked for five miles through--at times--waist deep ice water. We all admitted to peeing our pants because it kept us warm for .475 seconds. I was one of the few that didn't hallucinate but i do think i had mild hypothermia and frost bite.

17. I think i am hilarious.

18. I board-fold (the method retail stores use to uniformly fold clothing) all of my sweaters. I however don't own a board so i use my MacBook Air which is about the same size. So i guess you
can call it computer-fold...

19. I don't spend one dollar bills. It started in high school as a way to prevent myself from blowing what little cash i had in vending machines etc. and so i would have some money to put towards high ticket items like an iPod. I started it up again a few years ago and now call it my Wedding Dress Fund. When i lent it to my sister last year i naturally weighed it first, it came in at just over 4lbs. I think the clerk at the bank thought i moonlighted as a stripper...

20. I was in an opera choir in elementary school. I remember being a street urchin in Carmen and in the children's chorus in The Nutcracker.

21. My more memorable dates have involved: walking three miles barefoot on a river trail, a boy telling me he "usually likes to meet people by the Taco Bell in the Student Union Building," a boy that made up his own name, a boy that never told me his real name, a boy accosting me at every chance asking if he could smell me (he once said, 'you smell so good, you smell just like my grandmother's house' WHAT?!), eating spaghetti covered in cheddar cheese with a set of twins at their house (standing, not sitting at the table) before one of them took me on the rest of our date; I still can't tell them apart, and much, much more.

22. I love coffee table books and request that everyone who comes in my house reads All My Friends Are Dead.

23. I talk to at least one of my siblings every single day. I think we are hilarious and one of the best families to hangout with. We rarely fight, always make fun of each other, are constantly lending money, eat lots of food and quite often make inappropriate jokes. 

24. I am a note writer. I send cards for no reason, love to make heinous valentines, send obnoxiously long emails to boys who i want to date (not all boys, just the select few and i swear its not as creepy as it sounds), wrote 20 missionaries while in my early 20's, send random packages, and seal every single written correspondence with wax.

25. Secretly, my plan is to find a nice normal guy that only has a couple siblings so that when we get married i have a legit chance at winning Best In-Law. If there are only a few children it also ups the chance of maybe getting to go on parent-funded family vacations.

26. When left to my own devices, when others won't judge my choices, i watch terrible reality tv like The Real Housewives of New Jersey, Extreme Cheapskates, Teen Mom etc. All of them make me feel super good about my life. I have so much more going for me that most of these people, try it, its a real self-esteem boost. 

27. I have a decently large record collection. I started collecting them not because it is the cool hipster thing to do or because the sound is superior (i know its not), but because i love music and if i put a record on i listen to the whole thing and can't be ADD and change it after each song. It is one thing that makes me slow down and disconnect from technology which is slowing taking over my life. I blame my iPad, or Netflix Machine, as my brother calls it.
My birthday present to myself this year was The Forrest Gump Soundtrack on vinyl.



And your bonus for making it to the end?

My first ever photo where i look like benjamin button with lobster claws. 
You are so very welcome.

no wimps, no whiners, no bozos.

My instagram only proves my utter demise

Let's talk about real life:


like how i just purchased a lime green mixer for no reason other than it was lime green (okay, and a really good deal) and i currently have a boring white--exactly the same--mixer.

or, how i just logged into my work computer--which is located exactly two rooms and one flight of stairs away--from my bed because the last thing i can consider is even one stair (thank you, knee surgery).

and ever since i had surgery and went under anesthesia i am finding it super hard to eat meat and vegetables which leaves me craving--and consuming--carbs and straight up sugar. You guys, it took me over ONE AND A HALF HOURS to eat half a Cafe Rio quesadilla after my surgery and i hadn't had any food or drink in almost 24 hours. This problem is real, so very real.

And that basically sums up my life, a lack of movement, too much shopping and an obscene amount of carbs.

and let's be honest, this has been my life for a year... at least.

I can't say exactly what happened to me. I can blame it on stress. I can blame it on boys breaking my heart. I can blame it on the thyroid problem i am hoping i have at this point. Or that stupid game of football last Thanksgiving that cost me my meniscus and half my acl. But anyway you slice it, i did it to myself and i have to get my body back under control.

I am that type of aunt, buy them the
biggest donut to keep them happy.
So this is my public denunciation of terrible food. For me, i know that my size totally depends on what i eat and how good i look depends on exercising. Since i currently still walk like an 80 year old, exercise is mostly out of the question, which means my only hope is is getting my eating under control. I can't do it gradually, i have tried so many times, i have to do it cold turkey and super intensely.

We used to have a saying when i was in scouts (and yes, i was in BSA as a teenager in the co-ed scouting program, Ventures), "No Wimps, No Whiners, No Bozos." This is my new mantra, if i want get back to my--i am ashamed to say it--two closets of size 6 clothes i can't whine, wimp out or clown around.

My 'dress only' closet and now the background of my phone.
There are SO many gems in there i have been neglecting!
So you all now have permission (and i would love you all the more if you actually do) to text me and ask what i have been eating or if i managed to squeeze on real pants instead of leggings or if i have been eating out AT ALL or if my currently giant boobs are still sitting on my stomach rolls (rolls, as in plural, only when i sit down but still, COME ONE BETHANY!). Bug me! Encourage me! Join me!

I don't need any more incentives. I have bought more clothes over the last year than ever before as rewards, new shirts, pants, dresses, and even a swimsuit. I made a book of photos where i am skinny to look at. I need support and accountability.

So tonight i lay to rest my 30 lb weight gain and say goodbye to my beloved chimichangas, homemade sweets, donuts, cafe rio, and soda. (basically no carbs other than fruits/veggies, no sweets, and no eating out on my own)

And now that i am moving on with this part of my life i can get onto the better things like reviving my awkward dating blog and maybe actually reading a book.

This would be so much easier if i sucked at baking...


and now we will end on a high note which most certainly means old photos where i look healthier and a photo from yesterday just because i was having a killer hair day.


My hair, definitely one thing i have going for me right now.

my mojo, its back.

like this awkward encounter. that boy threw me in a pool
fully clothed once too AND then took me on a
hilariously terrible date. 
Lately i realized something horrible--my dating life has been off more than normal. I used to think that it couldn't get much worse but then i realized that no matter how unfruitful my dates were, they were at least HILARIOUS. This fact has gotten me through the last decade of dating, i always know that if i can't count on the guys i am attracted to asking me out i can sure count on a good story from the other ones!

Then this last year my dates started to not be hilarious but instead down right depressing. I actually 'dated' more guys than ever before but i also had: two boys that didn't really acknowledge that i moved across the country while we're dating (not at the same time, one when i went to nyc and one when i came back), one boy that kissed me and then conveniently 'forgot' that he knew me when we were in the same room, one boy that kissed his ex (two days in a row) while we were dating, and a boy i have been enamored with every since we met confess his undying love (i'm going to word it like that because it sounds more dramatic and makes me seem way more awesome) for me while i had a boyfriend and then when i was single again we went on one super awkward date and he 'remembered why he didn't ever date me in the past.' WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN? After that final blow i felt pretty awesome, but in the sarcastic not fun way...

I was out of my groove, my encounters with boys were no longer funny and very much sad.

Then i went to family home evening a few weeks ago in my singles ward (a monday night activity with the people that go to my church).

We were playing a game of basketball and me with my stellar skills did the only thing i know to do: run in circles around the court to tire out the poor sucker that is assigned to guard me and to keep one less person near the basket and therefore more accessible for my teammates.

After i successfully tired out my opponent he began chatting with me about how fast i am. I may not run marathons like my siblings but i can still sprint across a gymnasium like my limber elementary self.

"Man, you are so fast, but i bet i could beat you. We should have a race sometime!"

"Okay, how about now?"

With that we lined up against the back wall, just two people ready for a friendly contest. As a fellow girl yelled "Go!" we took off. The race lasted a mere few seconds as both of us flew across the room. I could see him gaining speed so instead of slowing down when i was a few feet from the wall i maintained speed and busted through the right side of the double doors (and yes in hindsight i know this was a very bad idea, if anyone was in the hall i could have killed them. But no one was there so i'll claim it was a good idea from here on out). I assumed he would aim for the left door...


but no.
this is why i have that other blog

He ran full speed into an exposed brick wall.

He did not slow down.

He did not jump into the wall with one foot.

He ran straight in to it,

and broke both arms.



With this, i feel like i am back in the swing of things. I am back to being the girl that boys do ridiculous things around that end up on a blog. Well played sir, well played.


oh and in case you were wondering, i won the race.


guilty pleasures

my nephew, in the tv zone...
You know the scene. You are sitting alone on the couch with remote in hand, finger on the 'previous channel' button. The show blaring on the screen is one that you shouldn't be watching but you can't break the spell it has on you. You sit with bated breath, ready to hit the button that instantly takes you back to the previous, 'safe,' channel as soon as you hear someone within 10 feet of the room.

This is how i spent my childhood. I wasn't watching racy shows (unless you consider Barney racy...), just ones that i knew would lead to endless shaming by my older siblings.

The Wonder Years
Season 2, Episode 8--Hiroshima, Mon Frere


Recently i was talking to my dear sister jenny, and she brought up the fact that us Davises have one major flaw: We love to ruthlessly make fun of each other. This might not seem that unusual or detrimental, and you might be thinking, 'Every family makes fun of each other. That is what makes the love-hate relationship between siblings fun!' You might think that is why siblings are fun, but it turns out they are fun because you do bad things together that you never told your parents. Indeed, they are your partners in crime. They are not fun when they are in “Hamster Patrol” mode (if you don't get that reference you NEED more of “The Wonder Years“ in your life). My siblings never sucked up my hamster with a vacuum — most likely only due to the fact that when you don't have a hamster it’s pretty hard to suck one up, and my other furry pet, a cat, was too big for the vacuum — but they did like to taunt me and each other about everything from pets to music to clothing to television viewing habits. And if taunting didn't stop you from engaging in the subpar activity they would take it upon themselves to physically stop you, like when my siblings hid my Joy School (pre-preschool) tapes in my underwear drawer so they could have days of peace from the rhyming rhythms (i didn't like to change my clothes or shower apparently as a toddler).
who could hide such a cute girl's tapes?!
Joy School graduation

The funny thing is that i feel like i spent most of my childhood foolishly hiding things i shouldn't have and flamboyantly showing things that truly were in bad taste or odd and were very much worthy of all the flack i got from all of my siblings.


For example, i didn't feel the need to hide:

• Knitting in movie theaters: Not only do my siblings know that dirty little secret but so do a whole lot of other innocent moviegoers.

• Singing show tunes at the top of my lungs in the shower: I'm sure half of the neighborhood could sing all the words to “Honey Bun” because of my frequent exploits.

• My love of infomercials: no explanation needed.

• Thinking a bowl cut was a good idea.




• Having my favorite television event be Nick at Nite instead of TGIF: By the time i was 10 i'm pretty sure i not only had seen every “I Love Lucy” and “Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour,” but i even had a giant coffee table book that i would frequent to brush up on the back stories of the episodes.

• Using all my babysitting money to rent classics from Hastings: What other kid was arguing with the
rental store that a not-rated film produced before 1960 wasn't going to have things inappropriate for a 9-year-old to watch?

• The fact that i not only was a mascot but campaigned for our school to get one.

My extensive homemade doll collection: It was creepy and mostly held together with Pintrest-worthy amounts of hot glue and the occasional staple.

• That i liked gold, so naturally i thought gold braces were a brilliant idea. Why was i so surprised when my siblings started singing “Ghetto Superstar” to me all the time?

• Lifetime movies: They are all about cheating husbands that get murdered by their wives and yet whenever the entire house sneaks off for the usual sunday nap i gravitate toward the terrible acting of Lifetime. Angels in heaven probably weep for my soul every sunday this happens. (did i say sunday, because they definitely have an iPad app so now it can happen anytime, anywhere!)


Yet i did hide such normal things as:
i hid who i liked cleverly under things like taped
down valentine's in my journal

• The fact that i was a girl and heaven forbid actually liked girly things.

• That boys are cute and sometimes i had/have crushes on them.

• Dancing. I might be a horrible dancer but being inept seems pretty universal.

• Writing. Did you know that it took me until college to willingly let people peer review my school papers and i was terrified to start a blog?

• Singing (not show tunes, just the regular type). At my dad's funeral in 2009 i had the first solo in a song that all the girls in the family sang. One of my sisters mentioned afterward that she didn't know that i could sing like that. Even weirder was the fact that most of my sisters are musical but i still never sang solos, especially around my family.
hard to believe she was the ultimate tomboy

• My love for crappy teenage music: Everyone goes through a phase liking something that is popular, but i felt like i had to keep it all secret. And with that i will admit that most of the time i spent on a bus on my way to ski team i was listening to Savage Garden on my Discman.


When i was talking to my sisters about what they hid as children, they mentioned things like riding their bike around the neighborhood with a Walkman so they could listen to Men Without Hats in peace and being total tomboys because 'girl things were stupid.' (For the record, the most tomboy girl out of our family — the one that made me feel ashamed to like girly things — didn't have anyone above her that said girly things were stupid but singlehandedly created this intense anxiety in both of us for no apparent reason. Oh and now both of us work in the cosmetics industry.) Especially when it came to music they got it — some music would be considered subpar and therefore warrant days of torture.

They understood what to hide and why. Apparently i did get that i shouldn't let my siblings know all of my silly habits, but i didn't get the memo of which ones.

tales from the tithing child

i couldn't keep simple things, like how many siblings i had, straight when i was a kid,
why do i assume i can remember things accurately?
there are 16 heads in this photo, my family only had 12 if you count my parents...
The other day i was with my mom and brother and commented about something i remembered as a child. Without even taking 7.3 seconds to comprehend what i said, Levi goes, "there is no way you remember that..." I stopped to think about it and realized, damn, he might be right.

Turns out that i am a bit hazy about the details of my life prior to 1998 or so. 

am i looking at the camera or the guy to
to your right? YOU'LL NEVER KNOW!
mawhaha
As i thought about my childhood i realized that a lot of my 'memories' are in third person--i see things happening to me as if i am a bystander. I'm no psychologist but i think that might indicate that i am making them up. Example--i have a distint memory of being pinned down by nurses and having eye drops forced into my eyes. I know this possible because i have been going to the eye doctor since i was a wee babe (its not hard to tell that your kid needs to go to the eye doctor when they are only really paying attention to you with one eye...) and getting my eyes dilated. But i didn't know until i was at least in high school that i had eye surgery when i was two and that is why i have gray streaks in the whites of my eyes, turns out they are scars. So did i make up the memory? Since when i think of 'that time' the room is pitch black with a spot light shinning on the poor cross-eyed girl that is being pinned down in the giant brown leather chair, i would say yes. My eye doctor's office was only 80% that creepy in real life with his crazy animatronic dog in the corner--AND he didn't have nurses.

mallory and i fight? never.
Then there was that time that Mallory and i got in squabble over where we sat at the dinner table. Everyone agreed with Mallory--my chair was across from the one i was claiming. But i didn't let that stop me! I was positive that i was right (and still am to this day, more so i am just so confused i don't know what to think)! Our fight was so dramatic that my mom left the table and her dinner and told us we could eat on the floor for all she cared.

Or how about the fact that i am 90% sure i once got all of my fingers--minus my thumbs--shut in the car hood, yet my brother who i swear was working on the car can't remember? I would think that if you accidentally shut your 5 year old sister in the car you would remember. BUT i remember that in first person, so did it really happen?!

my life is a mess. or so i think it is?

But here are a few things I KNOW happened when i was a kid.

he looks so innocent and loving. just like wayne before
he became the infamous Hamster Patrol...
Levi once locked me in the car after church because he is an older brother and that is the type of thing they do according to all television shows namely the Wonder Years. I was a 'dumb kid' (according to levi of course) and couldn't figure out the super high tech pull this thing the size of a screw up and it will release the door lock thing. Needless to say, i had to pee super bad and wet my pants all over the backseat--and i highly doubt i sat in one place like a sane person would, more like let's spread pee all over the seat in a panic! Once one of my nicer siblings, most likely a sister, let me out of the car and assessed the wet mess, Levi was summoned to clean it up. Karma, she's a--... you know the rest.

I really liked to run away as a kid. Most of the time i was kind enough to leave a map--though it was rarely accurate in topography or where i actually was--usually it was to my preschool. I would grab my favorite doll, Baby Beth (which ironically is not mine but a doll i swiped from my sister Sarah), a small hot pink plastic suitcase, a set of Baby Beth's cloths and a can of green beans. I would then haul all of this and a small wooden chair out my front door, down the yard, and into the ditch bank. I would sit under our driveway which was a bridge and contemplate the finer things in life--the color pink, dolls and green beans. 

The first time my mom left my alone I was probably no older than 5, she ran to a neighbors or something and wasn't gone more than five minutes (so that none of you assume she was a terrible parent). I watched her leave and as soon as she was in her car I sprinted to the basement where i helped myself onto the play table where i proceeded to dance. Apparently, out of all the forbidden things in the Davis household that i instantly had access to, dancing on the table tops was my top priority. You would think that i would have grown up to be a seductive party girl instead of the loner introvert. 

One of our favorite pass times in the summer was playing on our amazing wooden playground. We only had it until i was 7 so i am a bit hazy on its actual size because well, to me it was HUGE! I do know that the slide was long enough to merit levi hauling his bmx up it to ride down so huge is probably fairly accurate. Anyway, seeing as our father should have been in the circus and we were all able to walk on our hands as children, it is no surprise that we would grab the thick braided rope from the farside of the playground and throw it up to the person perched on the slide. We would then leap off the side of the slide and swing back and forth. I however remember doing this but missing the open space i was aiming for and slamming straight into the support beam where it proceeded to break my glasses and bounce me backwards into a pile of the dreaded sticker weeds. Luckily Jenny was kind enough to get tweezers and de-sticker my palms.
like this only cooler
I also remember the amazing three horse carrousel that my family had. It was on our back patio, was white with primary colors and had a light switch on the box instead of a coin slot so we could ride to our little hearts content. I also remember embracing the Davis, or daredevil--they are sometime interchangeable--in me and climbing onto the horses back, up the mane, grabbing onto the inside lip of the roof while i balanced my feet on the handles coming out of the horses head, and then climbing onto the roof. Then i remember falling off. Or do i? Is this where my problems began? Trauma to the head?                                                   

maybe i did remember being born, i look like
i was pretty traumatized from the experience...
I called Mallory to ask her if she had input on this. Without thinking, just like Levi, she said, "when you were little you used to tell us you remembered being born, that you remembered the doctor slapping your butt or something..."

and i guess that proves it, i have the best-worst memory around.

But i will always stick to the story that i remember laying on the shag carpet in the family room of our house with my pants off and diaper open. I then remember at least two of my older siblings, i think Mike and Katie, coming in, seeing the poopy diaper and turning away because they didn't want to change it. If you know mike and katie or any teenagers you should be able to see the truth in this one...

i always deliver

a smattering of notes i found in my room from jr. high all the way through college.

my tornado of a room
This thursday being Valentine's, i thought i would write about love and sometimes the lack there of. Where is there a lack of love you ask? Jr. High, the hell hole of all hell holes.  A few many months ago i was cleaning out my apartment in provo getting ready for my move to the big apple. As i poured over everything that i owned trying to decide what needed to never be seen by my eyes again, i found a box containing basically all paper proof of my public education. It was full of photos, school assignments, notes, letters, and trinkets (i might have a slight problem of keeping almost everything along those lines...)

Among the many treasures i found this note that i wrote to myself. 



My freshmen english teacher made each of us write a letter to ourselves that we would get back when we graduated high school. The first sentence pretty much summed up how i felt about jr. high (and high school later)--"Where can you start about junior high? It pretty much is the worst of all worlds." (I then go on about how irritated i was with my best friend stephen because he had a crush on this girl and stopped giving me the attention i deserved. i was so dramatic. I probably should have just told him i had a crush on him instead of annoying him to death with my whining about this other girl...)

When i found this note i started to think, what made jr. high so bad? Then i found the following note:


Apparently for me, junior high was full of me picking fights over little things like "the accidental pencil stabbing incident."

I can't remember what i did to make this girl think that i deserved a pencil to the head, but i do remember one incident with her. 

This girl always thought that she was the best at everything. She played sports, was smart, and wasn't an awkward looking pubescent so really she did have a lot going for her. However, she liked to tell everyone how right she was about everything in this nasally nerd voice that made even the nicest (which is hard to come by in junior high) kid want to punch kittens. During one of these rants, probably at lunch or in some classroom when i was confined to the same God forsaken corner as her, she punched me in the arm.
Now this punch wasn't the most forceful--i mean she played basketball and made sure that everyone knew, she had to have had some upper body strength--and i am sure that it didn't leave me with bodily harm but it made my blood boil. First this girl was going to get in my face and now she had the gaul to touch me?!
Calmly i turned to her and said, "you know i will get you back, right?"

She of course shrugged it off and went on to talk about me and how much i sucked and what not and how i would never do anything to her.

i spent most of jr high apparently looking nervous
Now we fast forward to lunch a few days later if not a week. I was standing in a small group of people; this unfortunate creature was across from me and two boys were on each side of us. As calmly as i had delivered the threat of getting her back but with the quick reflexes of a cat (if you have ever been of of the fools that tried to tickle me you know what reflexes i speak of...) i delivered one sound punch directly to her left arm. This was not a weak sauce encounter like the one she gave me, but a decent--if it was a math test i would have hung it on the home fridge in pride--punch. For the first, and quite possibly only, time in my life i felt slightly bad-ass.

As she grabbed her arm with her other hand and stared at me dumbfounded, trying to come up with some snide come back, i calmly said, "i told you i would get you back."

Needless to say the boys were more than a little confused and probably think to this day that i have anger issues.

at least in high school i pretended to be cool by being in the
Homecoming court and stuff
The girl and i had to interact at least a little for the next 5 or so years of school as we both went through the accelerated, AP, church seminary and choir classes. Did we ever make up? Never. In fact she drove me up the wall. the. entire. time. And for the record, i was not the only one bothered by her, just ask anyone from my sophomore chemistry class. She ruined our prefectly sound plan of only reminding the teacher to check our homework on the days that we all actually did it "Mr. Jacobsmeyer, you forgot to check our homework!"--but remember to say it like a girl Steve Urkle and imagine her waving her perfectly done homework in front of her face...

I saw her once in college. I was walking out of my apartment complex back in 2008 when her mom stopped me to ask me how i liked living there. I am pretty sure that she noticed who i was, but just like how i didn't admit to knowing her or her mom, i quickly answered her question and went on my way.

Ironically i have had two friends mention that they ran into her lately and both mentioned that i came up in conversation. One told me that she admitted to feeling horrible for how she treated me all those years ago.

And all these years i thought i was the only one that remembered.

And why would i post this for Valentine's Day you ask? Because not hating someone is almost like loving them and it turns out that after hearing--even if it was not from her--that she is sorry i don't hate her anymore. It is also good to know that no one is the same person as they were in public school.


This proves to me that there really is a God. He might have a twisted sense of humor for letting public school exist, but at least he fixes us in time for our ten year reunion. 


all my Valentine's also get sealed with wax
(like most of my letters...)





But on to real Valentine's Day, i love it. I don't care that i have never been on a hot and steamy date or had a boyfriend during the holiday--it is a holiday where i get to be all crafty and gushy and no one can think it is weird! I crafted it up this year and repurposed my three favorite books, All My Friends Are Dead, I Like You, and The History of Love that met their demise in my recent flood into one-of-a-kind valentine's. The only thing you have to watch out for is when you are making a valentine for your mother and the page that you ripped from The History of Love happens to have a not so good word very prominently placed on the page--we almost had a very inappropriate Valentine fail.

you're only 24 once

I've always really enjoyed having my birthday at the beginning of the year; it makes it super easy to remember how old i was when something happened and keeps everything tidy with my age changing almost in sync with everything else. Because of this, i use my age to judge everything.

like if it is Feb. and i am single--say last year--i know that i will not get married until i am at least 25 (being this year).

or when i say that i want to accomplish something in 2013 i know that i will accomplish it while i am 25.

see? everything is simple.

And since today is my birthday eve, i figured i should reminisce what i learned/did during my year of being 24.

I:

finally have documented proof of how terrifying it is to go bowling with me (and equally dangerous).





caught my third bouquet at a wedding (third times a charm, right? RIGHT?!)


after 8 months of preparation i had over 300 images on display in my BFA final show, 
Tithing Child: A Photographic Memoir



after what felt like a million drafts of my speech were approved--i spoke at my college's convocation ceremony and showed the campus (for the 3rd time) images of my sister giving birth...


learned that i have a problem am the champion of holding grudges against past boyfriends that were asses 
(still working on that, but lets be honest, we will never be friends. ever)


survived the great disneyland flash flood of 2012 (okay, it was just horrendous rain...) while being trapped on small world--now lovingly know as 'the slow-moving torture device from hell.'


started a blog about awkward dates--probably because of that date with that kid that made up his own name, wanted to take me 'fast food shopping' for dinner, and told me about himself using his kindle since he 'forgot his book of photos that he normally uses'.


moved to manhattan--and then kept moving around manhattan--again and again and again...



figured out that peanut butter balls don't have to be boring balls, they can be dinosaurs!
(and filled with chunks of reese's holiday treats...)



went through a hurricane unscathed.


went out on a date with a Turkish American that met me on the subway and thought i was russian.

(of course there are no photos of that...)

figured out what type of guy thinks i am their type: non-white and non-mormon men

(and if i had photos of the guys who hit on me in Harlem or on Canal Street, well, that would just be weird... creepier than the comments they made to me...)


slept on 5 different couches and in 14 different beds in 5 different states in 5 months.


met dan lauria who plays the dad on my most favorite show of all time, The Wonder Years.


gave uncle sam all my money after a tax blunder



went to six broadway shows


graduated from college and got this cool piece of paper as a 'well done, kid'


ate an entire pack of Hebrew National hot dogs in one week in all sorts of interesting culinary masterpieces.


lost the ten pounds i gained when i was dating tucker


succumbed to Pintrest. i say i did it for work purposes but let's be honest, i secretly want to make little crafts and take photos of my fingernails (which two people at the mall today were convinced were fake, they look that perfect and pink right now...)

and i still don't have any followers, so you should help me out so i don't feel like a failure at something so very simple...


'ran' my first ever race


joined a very sketchy dating site that i am pretty sure is only good for hooking up and not falling love.


had the most drawn out graduation ever. 
walk in april
walk/speak in august
actually graduate in december
finally have my name in the program in april of 2013


wore pants to church for the first time (but not the last if it stays so bitterly cold in utah...)


oh and one thing i didn't do was buy a tripod...still...

i have a bfa in photography, that doesn't mean i NEED to have a tripod, right? RIGHT?!





and here's to 2013. 
It has had a rocky start but it can only go up from here. 
I unpacked my kitchen and most my room, that is a HUGE improvement in my life already.


(did i ever mention that i didn't know i had my own birthday until i was probably 6 or so? I always thought that mallory and i had the same birthday because mallory and my dad shared a birthday, my mom's was 4 days later and then mine was 11 days after that so we celebrated once for all of us. This probably is the reason why i always wished mallory was my twin growing up...)

up up down down left right B A start

Sometimes i feel like my life is a video game--things seem to be at the mercy of snotty nosed teenager that is too busy trying to get my avatar to jump over magical rainbows to snatch lofty gold coins that might add up to a free life than actually get me to the next level of the game--one step forward and two steps back. (Maybe I shouldn't have said a snotty-nosed teenager--i doubt God would like being compared to such a creature...)
"hot dogs can last up to 20 years in landfills"
(and obviously i meant 'expiration'...)

I have been working on a number of blog posts over the past few weeks with amazing titles like: 50lbs, 10 miles & 20 flights of stairs (what it was like moving every 1-6 weeks in Manhattan), Dress Pants or was it Dress & Pants? (my response to 'wear pants to church day' and correct misunderstandings of my post about the subject), 6 ways to eat 6 hotdogs in 6 days (cleaning out my fridge in new york made me eat worse than when i was in college), Pin This! (how Pintrest got me a job offer, even though my personal account only has zero followers),  and last but not least--Diplomas, Old People Jobs & Shoebox Living (how 2013 is going to be my year with a move to NYC to live in my own studio and go to a big person job with benefits and everything).

But alas none of those have graced the blogsphere.

Three weeks ago i was sure this was going to be my year. My NYC boss sat me down the day before i left and offered me a full time job because she liked how i handled the business's Pintrest account and she found me very resilient from all my bouncing around the city. Needless to say she was impressed with me. The next week i was back in Utah and successfully cleaning out my closet and getting ready to move. The New Year came and i made one resolution: to spend the 12 months of the year getting back into prime shape so that i can be 125 while i'm 25. Things were looking good, i was going to look good and my career/living were looking good.

Then three weeks went by without the boss calling me to give me the official offer,
       weeks thinking i was moving next month so most of my things stayed in boxes,
              with my boxes staying the photo lab that is detached from my brother's house where i am squatting...
reunited after 4 months.

Now fast-forward to this past Wednesday.

Milo loves that i live with levi because, well, Milo and i love the same thing: sleep (i have always been that weird kid that gets 8-10 hours of sleep every single night). We went to bed around 10 but then at midnight, after a series of attempts by Milo to wake me up, i took him out to pee. In my delirious state i let him out, talked to levi for a minute, and then went back to bed. Levi then yells up at me "You need to come outside right now." To someone who loves sleep as much as me this was one of the worst sentences.

Turns out the next sentence was going to be even more awful...

"The photo lab is full of water, you need to come out now!"

This, is of course, the same photo lab where i have been storing a majority of my belongings in anticipation of moving 3,000 miles. I put on some shoes and a sweatshirt and ran out of the house to fish out my boxes of belonging. The night was abnormally warm, turns out the teens feel like 40 when it has been in the negatives, and all i saw was water cascading from the lab over the driveway--I failed to notice sheets of ice that lined the driveway under the newly formed puddles. As i deliriously ran towards the open door of the lab i hit a sheet of ice and instantly was on the ground wallowing in inches of ice cold water. Spinning like a turtle i turned my body towards the door and kept going.

Within a matter of minutes levi and i were wet from mid calf down and were tossing boxes to each other from my side of the lab. Soon the garage was filled with every towel from the house sprawled out along the floor with the contents of my boxes strewn on them. For the most part all the boxes that were sitting in 5 inches of water contained books which swelled so much that it was impossible to pull the books from the box and instead we had to rip and cut the boxes apart. When levi had first gone into the lab he had fumbled to turn on the lights (they were behind my boxes with a space for your arm to fit which wasn't so hard to do when water wasn't pouring out the door...) and knocked a few things down in the process but at least he was able to grab the top box which was full of the only full set of magazines that my dad was in.

all my friends are dead
For the next few hours we ripped boxes apart, moved stacks of boxes from the lab to the garage, found all spare towels in the house, changed our icy socks and shoes, washed a load of clothes from a suitcase that filled with water, and levi put the wet/dry vac to work. By 4am both of us were thoroughly exhausted.                                    
my dad built this airplane which landed him on
the cover of numerous magazines.
The next morning i was able to asess the damage and start the claim with insurance.

50+ kids books
30+ novels
20 cookbooks
20+ cooking magazines
1 Kate Spade purse
1 vintage suitcase
a few textbooks
a couple antique books
and a dozen irreplaceable books (mostly stuff from my dad) met their demise in a cold watery grave.

Now i sit in levi's family room surrounded by books that are still damp at the core and it turns out that while books possess one of my favorite smells--100 books drying in your family room posses a very terrible smell. This was not the worst thing to happen. Losing 100 books is better than losing a dozen magazines of my dads. Loosing 100 books is better than loosing my camera. Losing 100 books is better than loosing everything from all my boxes in storage. and the list goes on and on.

The thing that does suck is that i was only storing things in the lab because i thought i was moving cross country. Two days after staying up all night rescuing my belongings i finally received an email (not even a phone call) from my nyc boss saying that they have to pull their job offer because it turns out they can't afford to hire me.

i am pretty sure you should check such information before you offer a job.

Now i am almost 25 (this friday!), don't know where i am living (and might have to move in with my mom), am STILL living out of boxes/suitcases for the 6th month in a row, don't know how much of a job i have in utah, and am driving my nephew's car because i can't afford my own. i.am.awesome.

but on the plus side, i finally have the most expensive piece of paper of my life thus far, worth a whopping $32,971.58 (plus books and project cost of course) AND i haven't eaten any hot dogs in three weeks.

point of this story: if i told you i was moving to nyc next month and you could visit anytime because i was getting my own apartment, you might want to rethink your next vacation to visit.

second point of this story: i have been too preoccupied with life to think of something fun to do to celebrate my birthday. At this rate i will probably rent a car since that seems to be the only cool thing that comes with 25. BUT i am still accepting ideas for better options.

Hurricanation

there's a storm a brewin'
(Before the storm hit i managed to get out of NYC on one of the last subways/trains. I thought it would be a better option to wait out the storm with my sister's family. This turned out to be the best idea since many of the subways did not run for a full week and the apartment I was couch surfing in took in 4 other people that lost power.)

I have never been through a hurricane before. I have been through one natural disaster in my life--a flash flood--which i was in the thick of, completely unprepared. But the difference with that terrible storm, even though all of us that were involved thought at one point or another that this might be the last day the Davis family had ten living children, is that only a small portion of people were involved. The storm passed, phone lines weren't down, no houses washed away, no one was looting, and within a few hours we were warm and dry and doing okay.
you also spend a lot of time doing this.
which takes a very long time i might add.
For us Sandy passed relatively quickly and little damage was done. Two trees fell, one knocking out part of the back fence and one doing a little cosmetic damage to the car, and the power went out for a day--but that was it. When it is over and you are unscathed, you think all is well. We couldn't watch tv and our phones couldn't make calls or use data so we had no idea what was going on outside of the community we were in. It wasn't until i would get calls from my family in the west that i heard of cars floating in parking garages of the Financial District (where that apartment i coveted and almost recently moved into is located). It wasn't until i was texted by my boss that i found out that lower Manhattan had no power and she watched water pour down her street, sure it was going to come flooding into her apartment at anytime. And it wasn't until i got back to work a week later that i heard of apartments getting looted, even the baby's clothes were gone. But when you are in an area that wasn't hit very hard, it is easy to have a good time because you have no idea that somewhere else houses are washing away and over a hundred are on fire, until of course you are back in touch with the world and hear of the people that came out so much worse than you.

you spend a lot of time doing this during power outages
what we like to call 'Hurricane-opoly'

The thing that does amaze me though, are the attitudes that i have witnessed in upper Manhattan. These people never lost power and could see the news. They knew that the subway wasn't running because of flooding, they knew that lower Manhattan was out of power. They heard stories of looters. They saw footage of houses burning in Queens. They knew that houses were washing away in the Rockaways.


I heard these people complain that they couldn't get anywhere because of the subway, that they were getting fat from eating so much because they were cooped up inside (with a working fridge and means to cook...), that they wished people staying in their house (because they had lost power/heat) would leave. And then i went to church were someone said that they knew they would be okay even though they didn't prepare at all for the hurricane because God wouldn't let anything bad happen to them.

these are our 'we are sad that the power is out' face. BUT we could still shop at target--as long as you didn't buy any perishables--and play monopoly so all was right with the world. 


Last time i checked the church adamantly preached being prepared.

Not to mention that we are all God's children, are the people that lost everything somehow less so?

I was appalled. 

This week though, that person had a chance to redeem themselves. Instead of having church for the normal 3 hours, we met for 30 minutes in our work clothes and then headed out to the Rockaways to help rip out carpet, tare out drywall, move mounds of soaked belongings, and give hope to people that lost everything. For me, i think it was really good to go. There is a difference between knowing of the destruction and seeing it first hand. 

this is Gloria's house, the one I worked in.

in my family we call these toys Dudes.
this broke my heart a little,
but seeing family photos litter the street broke my heart a lot

Mormon Helping Hands goes into areas after first responders check the stability of structures and after insurance companies calculate damages. It blew my mind that two weeks after a hurricane hit things like fallen trees and soaked carpet hadn't been removed yet, but i guess that just goes to show how bad things are. We found a women who was trying to figure out how to take care of her 90 year old mother's house. She lived down the street and moved her mom to her house during the storm, which turned out to be the best decision. Her house was not damaged in the living area but her mother's main floor and basement flooded. The main floor was a good 5 stairs up from the street and still water poured in and soaked everything. One step on the carpet and your feet were wet clear though, all this after two weeks.


All of these people are still without power and heat. Many of them also lost their cars, some just up and floated away... If you are in the New York/New Jersey area i would highly recommend finding some time to go out and help. There is no feeling like having a complete stranger let you into their home and then give you the biggest hug--like they have know you for years--when you leave a few short hours later. It makes you realize how lucky you are and how much more grateful you should be for your health and basic necessities.


2,480 shake shack burgers


By 9:44 last tuesday night i was wasted. All of my belongings were packed, or gingerly shoved into reusable shopping bags, and i was trying to lighten my moving load by eating the biggest bowl of Golden Grahams with an exorbitant amount of milk. My feet were filthy, my head was throbbing, i was unable to process anymore emotions, and soon i had to lug all my belongings 0.6 miles to the couch i would be inhabiting, on and off, for the next two weeks. Utterly exhausted and eating cereal on the nasty floor should make it clear how i feel about my current situation--it blows.

i took this on the bus a week ago, now just image the rain
as tears on my face and you get the picture.
Last monday i was doing what i seem to do most mondays, ride the bus back from philadelphia to new york (i love new york but i also love that for the first time ever i live within a few hours of my sister and her family). Have you even been that person on a bus crying hysterically to the point where there is no need to hide it because everyone knows that it is you? yeah, me neither, well until monday. 

Part way through my torturious journey, my brother called to talk to me about our taxes. We own a small business together and our last accountant wasn't the best or brightest so levi recently kicked him to the curb and hired a competent one. The only problem with this scenario is that because of things that the old accountant did and advised us to do, we needed to revise our taxes for the last three years. I knew about this and had set aside some money for our favorite holiday, October 15th--the tax extension deadline. Little did we know that my savings would be about $12,000 (just savings, i had some other cash squirreled away in clocks and the like) shy of what just i owed. After one conversation with my brother i went from having enough money to live in nyc for the next few months and buy a decent car to take home, to being completely and utterly broke. All my liquid cash is gone. My grant for my internship is gone. My savings are gone. Now, for the first time ever, i am in debt. 

Do you know what $16,000 can buy?

lets try some different categories of my favorite things:



camera equipment:
-Canon 5D Mark III  $3,199
-Canon 50mm 1.2 L Series lens $1439
-Canon 85mm 1.2 L Series lens $1999
-Canon Speedlight 600EX-RT flash $557
-Profoto Studio Lighting Kit $3280
-Manfrotto Tripod $599
-MacBook Pro with Retina Display $2799
Total: $13,872



Kate Spade:
-purse $498
-dresses $398, $478, $448, $398
-coat $698
-colored jeans (in all six colors obviously) 6x$198
And that was only $4,106, that means there is almost $12000 left for 10 more purses, 12 pairs of shoes, and one more coat. So basically a total kick ass new wardrobe (you know, if i switched out a few purses for things like pants and shirts...)


Cars:

which is a lot newer than the Ford Escape i was planning on buying
or 2,000 bottles of Essie nail polish.
or 1,067 Costco chocolate cakes
or 941 Statue of Liberty cruises
or 2,480 Shake Shack burgers
or probably almost a whole baby on the black market.

or it can pay uncle sam so that he doesn't want you anymore.

After my crying subsided on the bus i transfered to the subway to head to my apartment where my check books lay dorment. Over the next few hours i went to two FedEx locations, printed $107 worth of tax forms--you know, $0.50 seems really reasonable for a b&w print, FedEx, along with your $0.30 a minute computer fee...--ran (literally) 8 blocks to the post office, ran to the drug store for tape, skipped every other stair as I lunged back to the post office, stuffed ten envelopes, wrote six checks, sealed everything nice and tight and said good bye to (most) of my assets. You'd think my night would end there, i mean the clock was abut to toll midnight, but no, since i got kicked out of my apartment i couldn't just go home, i had to then go to my friend's house to get her spare key so that i could move onto her couch the following day. 

saying good-bye to the studio
By the time my golden graham-eating-on-the-floor evening had transpired the following day, i was exhausted, still homeless, and very angry at stupid connie who kicked me out of my sublet. Needless to say i was a bit (am still slightly) a hott mess. But hott mess or not, i still needed to get it together and move all my crap--which has seemed to grow exponentially since i thought i would be in a studio for 4 months. I now hate hangers, food bought at costco, full size sheets, you know, all the finer things in life i like when i don't have to move them around the city in the larger-than-life blue Ikea bags. 
And this is how all my belongings migrated back .6 miles to where they came from only 36 days ago. Back along the same street, past the same cathedral  next to the same homeless man--who when he heard me talking to my sister on the phone about wearing dresses to work said, "God bless you!" (he must think i have nice legs, which obviously is true)--and finally pass the gaggle of rats that inhabit 109th street. When i first did this trip moving to the subleased studio (i walked this part of manhattan 7 times going to and from with my stuff) i walked because i had nothing better to do and i didn't want to draw attention from the co-op with a taxi, this time i was just feeling too poor to hail a cab. But when you have a friend that is willing to drag two bags and you can fit: your camera bag, shoulder bag, larger-than-life ikea bag, and hat on your frame and STILL managed to drag a suitcase that is 4 feet tall with all your food strapped to the back, why not just walk?

and that brings me to the present.

i still have a reeses problem...
but i did mangage to fit all this in that green bag and strap it to my suitcase.
win.
i am currently sleeping on a very comfortable couch in my friends room because she is very kind. But because i have vistors coming to the city i also spend time in sketchy hotels in Brooklyn and a friend's studio in Harlem. But those, those times are for a different post. But i will tell you that they involve christmas hams, trains so loud you can hear them in the shower, fish heads, duvet covers finagled into window sills, oh and Ricky Martin.

**and if this post worries you, don't be. I am not homeless in the sense of being on the street, i just don't have a place to call my own, and i have a thing called a credit card (and a loan from my business) so i am fine. I might not have any spare change for the next year, or a bed to call my own or the next two months, but i think i can survive that.**






what was i thinking?

First of all, a little plea on the blogsphere:

remember that one time when i posted a blog about photos and a girl de-friended me on facebook because she was so offended why what i--mostly sarcastically--wrote?

at least she gave me feedback.

and you don't want to be outshone by that mean girl, so you should give me feedback too with my new little gadget at the end of each post:


she choose to post on my facebook link
 'I just have to say that I read this and I am really disgusted by some of the things you said. I mean, utterly appalled. I'm practically speechless, I am so sickened by this.' 
but I assume she ment to click the box 'offended,' so i did it for her.

anyway, its takes .986 seconds to do, faster than a comment (which only like .2834 of you do) and it makes me feel like people actually read this thing. 


and now for my real post:

What Was I Thinking?

On days like today i sit back and think, 'why did i think it was a good idea to move to Manhattan?' You see, my day started at 7:30 when i checked my email (not a normal thing by the way, i loathe the fact that everyone assumes you should respond to emails within a fraction of the day, if you want to get a hold of me, make it pop up on my phone without having to go look for it...) and found a message from a girl that said i could come look at her apartment before work.  It was amazing I found the email in time, i don't normally get up until 8 or so.

Backstory: 

      You see, this one time i subleased a studio apartment from a girl who owned a studio in Harlem but moved to Utah. We agreed that i would sublease it until the end of the year, well, that is until she called me on Monday, only 3 weeks into me living there, to tell me that her, her husband, and her baby were moving back into said apartment on the 17th. 

      lets just pause for a moment here so you can take it in like i did.

      she is MOVING back into the apartment in 15 days (now 13...). Something she never mentioned to me. Please note that said apartment was for sale and i had to have it show ready every Sunday. Like she had no plan on moving back because she was trying to SELL it. (which by the way, if it had sold while i lived there it would have taken at least a month if not two before i would have to move)

        this girl sucks.

        a lot.

        and i sent one scathing email that might have mentioned that.

Any other day before work would have been fantastic but today i am going to Philly after work so now a HUGE 50lb suitcase is involved--i need to do laundry and store some of my belongings at my sisters in the event i do become homeless or sublet hop for the next two months. The girl failed to mention the address of the place and didn't get the memo where i asked for her to text me if she wanted to come, so i quickly sent her an email saying i was jumping on the train and to text me so that when i got service randomly in the underground i would know where the hell i was headed.

i then lugged my suitcase 0.3 miles to the subway, down two flights of stairs and then onto the full train. I finally got a text telling me where to get off, hauled my suitcase (and camera bag and purse with laptop) up two flights of stairs and then another 0.3 miles later, i had finally made it... to paradise.


The apartment is beautiful. It has a huge lobby, doorman, gym, lounge, roof with amazing view of everything you would want to see and a place to have bbqs and fires, and it is one stop away on the train from my office in SoHo. Nothing could have been better, nothing except for the fact that they need someone to sign a lease and if I did that then I would have to find someone to take over my lease after only two months AND i would have to shell out $2000 for the security deposit (which the subleaser would pay to take over the lease).

Is this a terrible idea? Am i so desperate that I am ready to shell out $2000 and sign a year lease in the city just to have a place to stay for 6 weeks to 2 months (I can't move in until Nov. 1st)?!

      and now i am back to hating the girl that is kicking me out.

So now i leave for work, which i am already late for, and walk out the lovely building that i want to house me. This is where things get worse.

pretend instead of rain that is sweat.
THAT is how sweaty i was.
and i looked THAT unhappy too.

First i get lost and go an extra .1 miles,  not a big deal if 80 lbs of luggage was not involved.

Two turns later (and one walk of shame past a man who saw me go the wrong way .765 minutes ago...) i find my correct route.

And now, one of the wheels fall off my suitcase.

Like a beacon in the night i finally see the J subway line. Two flights of stairs later i realize that it is headed to Brooklyn and i have no earthly idea where the uptown station is. 

Back up two flights of stairs, utterly defeated.

Finally I decide to use what the good Lord gave me and hail a cab with beautifully manicured orange nails (he gave me good hands, not the nail polish--obviously)

Old Navy Rockstar Jeans
$10 later i am finally at work. Everything i am wearing is sopping wet, the sweat cascading off my forehead down into my eyes. 

Rachel's 'birthday cake' made out of cookies the size of your head.
almost a week later, they are still a pretty good breakfast.
Then i realize that i never ate breakfast and my beloved protein shake is still on the counter at home, but don't worry, i have a GIANT black & white cookie in my purse, the breakfast of champions.  (there was also a half a piece of pizza in there, but i didn't want to be that smelly co-worker)

Did i mention that the entire time i was sweatily trudging down the street in the Financial District--constantly backtracking and passing the same people for a second time--that i was wearing bright orange pants? There was no mistaking me.

Especially since you could hear me coming for miles with the wretched scrapping plastic sound screaming from my one-wheeled suitcase.



judgy mc-judgerson

it is a well know fact that i am a slightly (that is me being kind to myself) judgmental person when it comes to the finer things in life like:

music


evanescence vs stars


food

mcdonalds vs pizzeria 712

being hipster

that vs me

parenting


child as a cart vs bedtime stories


literature


twilight vs anything i'm reading


and of course...

photography


the worst olympic photos ever vs the new york skyline

As i paroose the interwebs i am bombarded with things that send my judgmental mind into a tizzy. Why would you put a flower that is bigger than your kids head on it? and MORE importantly, HOW did you get the kid to stand up straight afterwards and not fall over?! Why did you take your engagement photo like that? and MORE importantly, WHY did you post it on facebook for everyone to see?! Why did you take a photo of your newborn when it looks like an alien and HOW did you not notice that your stretch-marked thighs are also in the photo?!

i mean i could go on for hours about my other judgmental obsessions but for right now we are going to do a quick little session on: This is what looks good in photos and what you did does not.

Newborns:

1. only about 10% of babies look as sweet as they really are in photos when they first come out. If your baby is scaly and miss-shaped from the traumatic delivery into this world, wait a few weeks to have photos taken. I really like babies, don't get me wrong, and i love that people are starting to hire photographers to document birth stories, I'm just saying that some things are better up close and personal later.

2. a babies head is only so large, lets not try and steal the show by placing some (usually terrible and cheap) GIANORMOUS flower on its head. It is a baby after all and not a flower pot. Remember when mom's used to stick little bows on girls head with syrup or honey? Lets just go with the rule that if you had to use honey to stick someone on your kids head, you would only want to use enough to make it smell sweet and not draw swarms of animals that want to lick it off. The sheer amount of stickiness that it would take to attach the flower--if it was not on a headband--would be child abuse. Use that as a guideline.

3. If you are taking photos of your child, pay attention to what they are around. For example, if the baby fits between your legs when you are sitting on a bed, maybe you should not take a photo straight down that involves a cute baby surrounded by your stretch-marked naked thighs.

4. if you like anne geddes, look at this and think again. Your baby is not a snap pea. (and if you don't like anne geddes look at the link anyway, you will thank me, or punch me...)


Engagements:

1. No one NOT EVER wants to see you ravishing each other on the grass. Keep things classy and probably at least partly upright.

2. People already start to look alike when they get married, do you really need to dress exactly the same too?

3. Kissing can be cute when the photographer tells you to do so (they are in the right place, catching the right angles and all that good stuff), don't just kiss through your entire session, it does not look right.
*this happened to me as a photographer, the photos were weird but i felt like i had to keep shooting because they weren't do anything else... but once she started whispering (but loud enough for me to hear) about what she was going to do him once they were married--me and my virgin ears stopped photographing in sheer horror. It did not help that they were a very awkward couple...*

4. Sometimes, go figure, people want to see your face and that you are truly in love. I can understand one photo of you standing an awkward distance apart, but do you have to cut off your heads too?

5. oh and once you are married, no one wants to see most of the photos from your honeymoon--like how cute the cruise staff decorated your room that you are about to defile.


Maternity:

1. Wear shoes. Do you realize that you look like knocked up teenager when you are sitting on bridge holding your giant belly with no shoes on? Can we say "this is Where the Heart Is?"

2. Take your photos when you are cute and small and not about to pop, things look so much more natural at about 7 months than 9 and 3/4. And it makes people like me who are TERRIFIED of childbirth a little less scared. (I'm talking about your maternity photos, not your weekly 'I'm this many weeks and this much bigger' photos, those obviously need to continue until the baby comes)

3. Stand up, if you can't get off the couch by yourself you should probably realize that you don't look so awesome stuck on the ground in that position where your legs shoots straight out because there is no longer room to sit comfortable on them.

4. We all know you love your baby, a photo of just your stomach with little hand hearts doesn't convey that any more.

5. Wear clothes that fit, if you want to show off your belly, wear a tight shirt, don't wear a normal size shirt that only buttons over your boobs and that is all.


I have seen all of these things on facebook. I only have 500 and some odd friends, WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?! I would include examples but that couple make me loose a couple friends.

And don't think that you don't judge others too, you do. You just might not take screen captures of terrible wedding photos to show to your friends once they get off their missions or google 'ugly babies' after you have exhausted the ones you and your sister know on facebook. (and for the record that means usually parents dressing their children in awkward ways or in costumes all the time, not that the actual child was ugly, i don't really believe that children are ever ugly.)

i still have friends?!

when i look like this you might want to hack into my
blog and change the password until i recover.
I just re-read a bunch of my blog posts and the general consensus: how it is that i still have friends?! Seriously people, the next time i am a hot mess for so many months, please, PLEASE, douse me with a bucket of water (or lemonade, i really love lemonade) and tell me to snap out of it.

Sure, the last dumping i received sucked a lot, but what was i thinking? If the boy wasn't interested in dating me in November he sure as hell wouldn't be interested four months later after multiple ranting blog post (forget the letter, emails and one scathing text--all with purpose, i don't just contact exes out of the blue...).

For all of you that lasted those months--still hanging out with me and reading my blog--karma has something good in store for you. Or if karma takes too long to pay you back you can venture on over to my adorable abode for a home cooked meal because, well, you are a saint and deserve it.

And because of that, i decided that i need to cleanse my blog with some new topics.

For the record, this post will be written in less than 1/2 hour (most take me hours, yes hours--lots of proof reading and rewriting though you probably wouldn't notice due to my intense lack of spelling/grammer talents) and it is past 10 o'clock at night which might as well be the wee hours of the morning for me. All of this just to cleanse my blog palette.

Though i don't have time to construct a witty essay of my latest awkward encounter with the male species, showcase photographs of my latest project, or read to you from my childhood journal where i could spell EVEN fewer words correctly, i do have time to mention what is coming in the future.


This blog will soon contain:

Comparisons of: The Biggest Loser, Teen Mom, and Real Housewives of New Jersey. How are they related you might ask? They all make me feel like a million bucks because I am not: 400 lbs, a teen, a mom, and totally classless. I might (meaning i will, of course) reveal just how crappy my taste in television is and yet why i judge all other human beings to no end for their choice of media.

it is softer than a babies butt
How i am going to land myself a trust fund baby in the big apple. I am moving to NYC at the end of the summer and Gossip Girl has been kind enough to teach me the ropes. It also taught me that buying a leather jacket that full price was more than my rent was a good idea (no, i did not pay full price). Could it be possible that crappy teenage dramas are influencing me to make terrible decisions?! Tell me it ain't so! They are only full of moral examples and teach you how to be an upstanding individual!

typewritters are so hip right now.
i had one before hipster's realized it was cool...





The reasons i am not on Pintrest. It probably has to do with the fact that it would be equivalent to giving a crack whore crack (or a brothel?). And did you know that i am just as cool as everything on Pintrest? Oh just you wait, this post will be full of photographs that PROVE i am right. I am the right mixture of Martha Stewart and hipster, i'm going to coin it Stewster.


AND:



that i am starting a new blog and need your help. Currently all i have is the blog layout (the tandem photo shoot is coming this weekend!) but at least its a start. Alone on a Tandem will be submission only blog dedicated to awkward dates. Start bringing back those dates you repressed all those years ago and share them with me. I will photo illustrate them and put them up for all to enjoy/sympathize.

it will also probably have some incriminating photos and possibly a few stories from my childhood like the infamous Loon Lake flash flood where everyone peed their pants and hallucinated.

Until then...



i may have a lot of talents, but dating isn't one of them

on my rooftop reading.
only took me 4 years to finish that book...
Lately i have been in an unpleasant funk. A couple months ago i got dumped, which of course sucked, and after i spent a couple weeks being a hot weepy mess i had to spend all my time of my BFA show. After my show went down, suddenly everything that i didn't have time to deal with came back.

I made a rule for myself sometime ago that i would never be allowed to dwell on an old boyfriend for longer than we dated. This means that this week is the last week i get to spend feeling sorry for myself over my last failed relationship. Over the last few months i have had my run ins with my ex. The run ins wouldn't be so bad if i didn't have this awful talent of saying things that i shouldn't that make conversations awkward or sending way too long of emails that probably make me look like a crazy person. But then again awkward conversation is bound to transpire when you are at a party checking a text when you suddenly get bombarded with the most intensely happy hug from your ex. So did not see that one coming last night... you can imagine how sellar my conversation was after that...

I also have this other issue, a lot of times i feel pretty friendless. I partly doomed my social life be choosing to live alone, but still, my apartment has never been so lifeless as it is right now. I think this partly has to do with the fact that i hate the ward i am in for church. I can go to church for three hours and only talk to 5 people and have someone sit by me for only one of the three meetings. lame. However, i do realize that this is partly my fault. I am not very good at meeting new people.

Anyway, there is a point to this rant. It is at times like this, when God gives me little reminders that i am kinda cool and all is not lost. Kind of like how he made it sunny last week because I am pretty sure i was experiencing the winter blues more than being lonely.

Life is gold because i was reminded that:


~Reading on your dilapidated rooftop is very nice, even if you have to crawl out a window-over your handmade Longaberger pillows-to get there.
~It is impossible to not dance when listening to Arcade Fire's 'Haiti' on vinyl (i just have to watch for the sweet spots in my floor that make the record skip...)
~It is possible to make Peanut Butter Balls in other shapes besides spheres, like dinosaurs for instance.
~It is impossible to make a recipe from Martha Stewart that does not taste awesome.
~Even pies that look like animals drowning in a tar pit are delicious.
~Losing five pounds means that all of your pants fit so now you have 10 pairs instead of 1.
~Spring cleaning can be rewarding when you de-clutter, exchanging crap for your computer for a creative vase of photo props.
~When dating seems impossible you can reread your BFA sign in book where someone wrote 'I want to open mouth kiss you'-there is always someone out there...
~When you have a black and white checkered floor you only have to Magic Erase the white squares.
~You can fix an old Polaroid with a hypodermic needle and some watered down glue (i secretly love sticking things with needles).



this makes me look like i know how to bake pies
unlike the ariel view above...
and this was my first pie.
ever.
and last but not least:

~Though i might think that i am doomed when it comes to dating, I am not completely inept.

On my last date i was not the one wearing a 'Chuck Noris is a Cougar Fan' shirt tucked into my jeans. Or the one that said that i forgot my book of questions to ask someone when you first meet them, oh or the picture book that would explain who i am. Or the one that mashed my first and middle name together so that it would be unique (or sound like you were raised in Utah). Or the one that thought that going Fast Food Shopping is a good idea for dinner.

yup, i now feel a little better.

and for my final rant about my last relationship: he is a photographer that never photographed us/me. He is a musician who never asked me sing with him. He is a connoisseur of fancy foods who never made a fancy dinner for/with me. He is a blogger/writer who never said/wrote a word for or about me or read my blog. He is an outdoorsy man who never went camping or any kind of road trip with me. And last but not least, there is absolutely nothing in my apartment from him-no cards, no flowers, no objects of any sort-nothing.


oh wait, i take that back, there is some cheese in my fridge that he gave me as a peace offering when he dumped me. weird.

yet somehow, the most baffling thing about all this is that somehow i can call him and ass and in the same breath say that i still love him-someone explain that one to me. Or get him to explain to me what the real reasons were for our breakup (i would ask him but like i said, i make things awkward and have already maxed out the allotted email characters for an ex that doesn't want to be an ex...). I bet it has to do with me being older 20 and having this bad habit of falling asleep early while he would do homework at my house, I don't think i was spontaneous enough for him.

and with that, the year of super crappy relationships is over. This year i will not fall for the antics of boys that don't really want to date but just want my food or car (and seriously, why did some of them want me to drive, Tryone is on his last leg...). Even if i only get more unusual dates full of Chuck Norris shirts and crappy hamburgers, at least they won't leave me crying and feeling insecure.

or better yet, i'll forget boys and just focus on the GMAT...


(and here are some more photos of my book, just because it makes me happy)



keyword me.

Nothing makes you feel more awesome then looking up the top search words that google thought should direct people to your blog.

In the past week people have searched for:



and over the course of my blogership people have searched for:



boy chubby undies?!

CHEESY BLASTERS?!

All the other ones made sense, anything with BYU--especially housing--of course! Kid from little giants who is solely known for blowing snot bubbles? Nothing says 'Bethany as a scrawny kid' better.

Lately i have been having that whole 'i just got dumped and feel kinda terrible about myself' attitude. You know the feeling, the way you feel when someone gave you lame reasons why they didn't want to date you but still wanted you as their best friend--it is kinda equivalent to feeling like the fat best friend, you are there when it is convenient but they don't really want you around all the time--like when super hott boys are around to flirt with (which is funny since if they view you as the fat best friend they shouldn't view you as a threat and shouldn't shun you from the hott boy flirting). Amazingly enough, knowing that people get to my blog because i once resembled the scrawny snot bubble of a boy makes me feel good. At least i have blossomed out of that stage. Let's be grateful for one thing at a time. 

and on that note, my new mantra is to tell myself that i am beautiful because i feel that women are taught not to vocalize that they are beautiful. Have you ever had someone ask you if you think you are beautiful? It is an awkward question, women have been conditioned to feel conceited and shirk off compliments. That awful feeling you have after a boy stays a lot of stupid things, combined with not feeling comfortable about being confident in your own beauty makes you feel all sorts of dumpy. I am out to change that. So here is a photo that i think i look pretty in. And there i said it (i tend to proof read my blog entries out loud) sometimes i think i am beautiful. 


no snot bubbles or accidental nipple here. 

(if you have no idea what i am talking about when i reference the boy from Little Giants, 
visit this short little ditty of a post)

this single lady

You'd think that dating someone for four months would make it hard to get back into the swing of single life. Turns out i am almost as good at adjusting to single-dom as i am to jet lag (i am a rockstar at combatting jet lag by the way).

this is the face of a recently dumped girl.
or a girl that just cut onions.
okay fine, this photo is from when i cut onions.
i wish you could see the tears dripping off my chin soaking my shirt.
ironically, my boyfriend always cut onions for me,
i guess it is tear stained shirts again for me now.
sucky suck, i eat a lot of onions.
So what is it like to be single and live alone? Oh, it is a party i'll tell you what. It only took one day to adjust back to my normal--perfect-- sleep schedule, in bed around ten and up at seven. Being dumped ironically also pushes me to exercise and eat less sweets (except for last night when i 'accidentally' ate half a (small) pan of reese's bars...) so i have been working out like none other (should i be worried that i am an aggressive person if instead of crying i want to lift weights and run until my legs throb?). I was at my heaviest ever last week but now i am on the road to skinny jean recovery. My apartment is also very clean. I think i replaced my boyfriend with another man, my new dyson. I vacuum all the time. Seriously, all the time.

Being single lets you do anything you fancy. Lately, the things that i have been fancying involve Christmas. So now, without anyone judging (not that my boyfriend ever judged how i decorated my apartment, but whatever) my plan of attack for things, i have fully 'thrown' up Christmas all over my house.










Today i pulled out my iron for the first time. I didn't use it for clothes--i try not to buy things that need such a device--i used it to flatten snowflakes of course. I also got creative with my Christmas tree. I couldn't find paper clips to hang my small silver ornaments so naturally i choose the smallest clothes pins i have.  I then decorated with my trusty--twelve odd years old--popcorn and cranberry chain. She is a real beauty and makes my tipsy tree perfect. Speaking of being single, you know you are single when your Christmas decorations take up less than a square foot of closet space. All of my ornaments fit in a small tin can, pretty classy indeed.





When you are single you also get to do classy things like lounge around in your sock monkey slippers with your huge plush robe while you pick apart a chicken carcass on your leather ottoman. Next i will probably paint my nails skanky barbie pink, you know, to shake things up a bit. 



Don't get me wrong, i don't seek to be single even though i am so damn good at it, it is just something that unfortunately happens. Do i wish that my boyfriend would realize that i am a catch (come on, i even postpone painting my nails so i can pick a chicken clean, that is a damn good woman)? Yes. Do i wish that he hadn't had me pick him up from the airport and use my time and gas only for him to dump me when we got to provo? Yes. Do i wish i hadn't accidentally started crying in front of my class when a friend asked about him the day after he dumped me? Surprisingly, no. It was rather entertaining with this poor boy was trying to console me while i was laugh/crying. He was patting my knee from a distance trying to make things better saying, "um i usually don't make people cry...". Lucky chap, he's been married so long he forgot how to console girls with broken hearts. 

oh and my exboyfriend admitted while we dated that he never read my blog. one of my friends said that should have been a sign...

my secret (night) life

I have always been adamant that i am not a night person, yet ironically, i think that is when i am most entertaining. As i have mentioned before in terrors in the night, i have a problem with sleep walking/talking/dancing. Nothing has changed, i've still been sleep walking lately, but a new dimension has been added--incredibly vivid and rememberable dreams.

For an entire week i woke up each morning being able to recount dreams in their entirety. Or i woke up acting out my dream, like searching my house for my new baby niece nora (i came to with the light on and me throwing my clothes out of the hamper, sure she was under there). The dreams seemed to last for hours, not just seconds. The best two dreams are as follows:

'dave and nishelle's carnival wedding'

There i was, standing in an elevator minding my own business. Suddenly the door slides open and Adam Clayton waltzed in and started chatting it up with me. Dazed by running into a member of U2--months after they came to salt lake none-the-less--i continued on my way to my apartment, which had morphed into a combination of Seven Peak waterpark meets the Riverwoods shopping center meets Carriage Cove apartments. It was pretty sweet.











Walking around the complex to my stairs i noticed something was out of place. There stood the edge and bono assembling and test riding a ferris wheel for my friend's wedding. "Oh hey, i just saw adam clayton the elevator, what a small world." I can't remember much else about our conversation other than that they also made some humorous good natured jabs at me. We chatted for a few minutes, i didn't want to be that creepy lingering fan, so up the stairs i went to my apartment.

(Alas, paul mccartney wasn't in my dream, but i decided to throw him in for good measure. Next time i will ask him to make an appearance since he seems to be pals with U2, which after my dream practically makes me best friends with him too...)

I went upstair to tell my friends about the down-to-earth rockstars that i had just met and we got carried away playing games and singing. All the sudden i got a text from dave that made me remember why i had gone upstairs.

text: 'hey, i thought you would be out here finding the perfect angel to photograph us when we came out!'




Oh crap.

I was hired to be the photographer at dave and nishelle's wedding. I had gotten carried away reenacting my U2 encounter that i forgot to watch the time to walk down to the temple to photograph them when they walked out. With that i flew down three flights of stairs with camera equipment hanging from every limb. Once i hit the ferris wheel i ran face first into two of my friends, also wedding guest. By then the lights of the carnival were in full swing and music and churros filled the air. After about three seconds of discussing with them what our plan of attack should be for the evening, i totally forgot about my job as main photographer.

After dinner and many rounds of milk bottle toss i realized my blunder. I sat up in my bed, woken by fear and guilt. I instantly thought 'well someone had to have been there with a camera, i am sure that they got some photos...' my heart was racing and i was debating what to text back to dave, 'um sorry you paid me to take photos and i decided to win a giant bear from a carny instead...'

luckily, right before i reaching for my phone to text dave, i realized it was a dream.

this is how i image dave would look
if his wedding photographer was at the
wedding and forgot to take a single photo...

i know i should stop sleeping with my phone near by bed, it might start getting weird...


i was going to write about my other awesome dream where i ransacked a chinese sweat shop that mass produced counterfeit banana republic luxe credit cards, slapped a woman in the face, stole a baby, ran through a waterpark, witnessed the baby turn into a frog, and then walked home in the clear since i couldn't get charged with kidnapping because there wasn't a baby as proof anymore. Now that i think about it, maybe i should have told that story in entirety instead. But i will tell you one thing, finding photos of local scenery and celebrities is much easier than finding images of babies morphing into frogs. I would know, i tried...

he loves me. he loves me not. take two.

have i mentioned how much i
LOVE this show?
my new life goal is have a story
featured in an episode.
I realized something awful after i published my last post: it came across way too depressing and my normal humor and wit was lacking. This post will therefore be a replacement for the last, less-than-desirable, post.


Today i was doing what i normally do, listening to This American Life while i work (or disinfect levi's usually very nasty dish situation in the kitchen...). One of the episodes that i was engrossed in was about break ups (the most current episode which can be streamed from their site). Everyone has them, they are probably the most common thing among humans, yet when it happens to us we feel like no one could possibly know the pain. And some of us, just want to be able to write heart throbbing lyrics about our recently failed relations.


I may or may not have recently started a phone conversation the following way with a fellow that i had been going on dates with for a couple months:


"so... can you just tell me why i'm that girl that never really dates anyone? I mean, out of the three guys that halfway dated me in the last year, you are on the nice end of the spectrum and are probably the only one that would tell me..."


This was not a break up, we were never dating. It is obviously not a break up when the conversation has a fair bit of laughing and sarcasm from both sides. But none-the-less, laughter aside, i was frustrated with my dating history 


self portrait 2010, untitled 
"sleepless nights due to neighbors that never turn off their blasted porch light..."
I have decided that i would rather not date people at all so i can feel justified in my self pity of loneliness, or i want a boy to REALLY break up with me. The type of relationship demise that has its roots so deep in drama and tears that it has the potential to be the meat and potatoes of the next chart topping love song. All i currently have it half-assed relationships that leave me not justified to complain about never going on dates but at the same time the dates aren't leading anywhere so i never get the "i could write a cheesy bubbly love song about this" or "this sucked so bad i am going to write the most depressing break up song ever. evvveerrr."


have i mentioned that i do not write music? yeah, that doesn't matter, it is the principle. And who knows? Maybe i've just never had the fiery fuel to write a song, perhaps i am just one break up--or torrid love affair--away from billboard gold. Or i could finally have good stories for the seemingly dark self portraits i seem to create for class...


What have i got from my previous relations (some probably don't even deserve the word 'relationship')? Nothing worth writing about. 

-at 16 i actually had a boyfriend, the only time the 'title' happened. This relationship lasted about six months but was high school mormon dating which equals not real dating. You know the type, you are best friends and everyone knows your dating and after a couple months they kiss you, real heavy stuff.


-a couple boys who i would rather forget that i ever knew let alone kissed...

-My freshmen year of college i kinda dated a great guy. We never officially dated, he kissed me the night before he went home for the summer and then one visit and a couple months later he went on a two year mission. We wrote the entire time but when he got home i freaked out (I was terrified of the stereotypical return missionary that is pining for marriage). 

He got married last week.

self portrait 2009 "i can do hard things"
-Last summer i thought i was dating a kid but it turns out he never really told anyone about me and when someone called him my boyfriend he freaked out and broke up with me. (which is ironic to feel the need to break up when apparently i wasn't his girlfriend...)

-and now my newest phenomenon, a variation of: 
boys that know me but never talk to me. One day that actually talk to me and decide i am super cool, hangout with me a ton and then drop off the face of the earth. 

I guess i could write a deep despairing love song about my high school romance. No, that won't really work, i was more distraught about the boy starting to drink and what not the year after we broke up then actually breaking up. I don't think a break up song about high school drinking would top any charts.

There could be something good about the boy that got married, but i was so afraid of marriage that i never talked about anything too deep. A break up song with no gut wrenching emotion filled conversation doesn't win either. 

This leaves me empty. Empty of fuel for lyrics. Empty of fuel for blogging. Empty. 

With this, I succumb to the most low form of dating. It has to be better than what i am getting myself. I hereby will accept dates from others, aka blind dates. I have never been a fan before, the boy who called himself 'Buck' that didn't really talk our whole date probably killed that, but i am willing to let bygones be bygones and try it out again. But, if you feel the need to set me up you must think that we are compatible and don't just fit the criteria of 'well, their both single...'

Perhaps with your help i could finally have that torrid love affair, or at least something.

And for the record, the things that came from that phone conversation about what i need to work on in dating are as follows in case you feel the need to tell the blind date participant why i am currently single: i am forward at the wrong times, i sometimes text too often, i make it too easy for boys that are not interested to spend time with me (i will blame that on my generosity and delectable cooking skills), and i read all and every sign the exact wrong way (like that creepy girl in the He Love Me He Loves Me Not french film).

But on the flip side you can go ahead and tell that: I am independent/self sufficient, witty, decent at dressing myself, martha stewart-ish, classy, well read, at times athletic, and basically just all around fantastic. 

he loves me. he loves me not.

"so... can you just tell me why i'm that girl that never really dates anyone? I mean, out of the three guys that halfway dated me in the last year, you are on the nice end of the spectrum and are probably the only one that would tell me..."

No, i didn't recently start a phone conversation with that... okay, maybe i did.

every post that involves something off about myself deserves one good photo.
I pride myself in my ability to dress myself.
Today i pretty much looked like this
(but subtract the hipster glasses and replace them with classy square frames)
but add a blue necklace, lime green shoes, a pink/orange bag, and purple nails.
A rainbow explosion at its best.

Here is brief history of my dating.

-at 16 i actually had a boyfriend, the only time the 'title' happened. This relationship lasted about six months but was high school mormon dating which=not real dating. You know the type, you are best friends and everyone knows your dating and after a couple months they kiss you, real heavy stuff.

-a couple boys who i would rather forget that i ever knew let alone kissed...

-My freshmen year of college i kinda dated a great guy. We never officially dated, he kissed me the night before he went home for the summer and then one visit and a couple months later he went on a two year mission. We wrote the entire time but when he got home i freaked out (I was terrified of the stereotypical return missionary that is pining for marriage). 

He got married last week.

-Last summer i thought i was dating a kid but it turns out he never really told anyone about me and when someone called him my boyfriend he freaked out and broke up with me. 

-and now my newest phenomenon, a variation of: 
boys that know me but never talk to me. One day that actually talk to me and decide i am super cool, hangout with me a ton and then drop off the face of the earth. 


This takes us to my recent phone call. 

For the last couple months I have been spending time with a certain fellow. We have mutual friends and met a year and half ago but only really started hanging out recently. 

This is where is gets sticky. You see, i now view myself as the main character of He Loves Me He Loves Me Not (a fantastic french film, go netflix it.) The tagline should explain it, "Is she crazy in love, or just crazy." Turns out I am the 'just crazy' type.

We went on numerous dates, or accidental dates as he called them. People would refer to us as dating when we were out and he would always make some agreeing statement. He called me Honey, came over one night at midnight just to say hi because he felt like he hadn't seen me in a long time (it had been a week), asked me about a boy i didn't date last year--he wanted to make sure he wasn't doing the same things that turned me off...

And the list continues. 

To me--in public--it looked like we were dating. However, we weren't. We did hold hands once, but that is one of those situations where i still can't decide if he wasn't trying but i thought he was so i went with it, or if he was legitimately trying...

After a couple months of this i was sorely confused and annoyed so i called him out on it. He apparently didn't see the same things and was more than a little surprised at my view. During our conversation i asked him why i never really date and what i need to work on. After an hour i feel that most of the things he told me where things about himself and not me (oh the irony, i ask and can't accept, we never want to see ourselves as less than awesome). He said i was too forward but also said he likes forward girls. He said i text too much but still texted me to hangout. He said i make it too easy for non-interested boys to spend time with me yet he made the first move and had me over for cinnamon rolls and took me to a movie three days after we first hungout. Basically i feel it all boils down to attraction and though he didn't say it, he was never interested. This is what makes me that crazy girl. That girl that read every sign possible, the exact wrong way.

As i have been blowing through discs of Mad Men--before Netflix charges me more to view dvds at home--i found this great quote:

"So do you go on those dates were you ask each other questions?"
"Its a means to an end."
"But nobody knows whats wrong with themselves, i mean everyone else can see it right away."

And since i already opened pandora's box about my less than desirable qualities, i might as well continue. here is the list of things i am working on:

-i am better at talking about myself than asking questions about you-i do not shower everyday-i can be a bit overwhelming on the text front-i give awkward goodbyes-i say whatever i am thinking which can sometimes be inappropriate-i would rather do everything myself than let someone help me-i am slightly addicted to shopping, mainly at banana republic-

And now that i am a self proclaimed 'crazy girl' and am having zero success at dating on my own. I hereby change my previous dating practices and will go willingly on any blind date any lovely creature plans. The only stipulation is that you actually think we are compatible and don't just set me up because we are both single...


oh on a side now... said fellow is a great guy and we are still friends. It is amazing what actually talking to someone about why you aren't dating makes things less awkward.