carry on carry on carry on

I had a friend that used to always say:

"life sucks and then you die"

I never really thought that was true, but i'm finding more truth in it the longer i live in manhattan...


My last blogpost was written from my office--after i had finally found my way back to my trusted SoHo in a cab--and successfully dried my sweat drenched body. At that point i thought i had braved the worst part of my day, little did I know that i would lug that stupid suitcase to a photo shoot, then haul it in the back of a cab, drag it up and down 34th street--as the MegaBus directed me to line after line, pull it along in downtown Philly and finally load it on a train. All of that was grand but exiting the train caused some fuss and loss of bodily fluid.

When i was at the train i called Jenny, 'um, something is wrong with my foot, i am pretty sure my heal is bleeding into my shoe and i have a growth on my toe...'

sisters, sisters, there were never such devoted sisters.

I was kind to my dear old foot on the train, that is until i almost missed my stop. I frantically jumped up, grabbed my suitcase and with one awkward gesture made it land directly on my toe growth. By the time Jenny picked me up i was hobbling along with my shoe was full of puss.

I went to Philly for a number of reasons:
      get out of NYC for some TLC
      unload extra crap from my apartment since stupid connie isn't letting me stay
      do laundry
      chew on the babies (or snuggle my nieces and nephew)
      babysit nora so jenny could run the Ragnar
      cheer on sarah and jenny on said Ragnar

      oh and photograph jenny and sarah....

yeah, if you couldn't tell, i forgot that one.

I not only lugged a 50lb suitcase to Philly (with only 1/2 of one wheel...) but I also had my camera bag that weighs about a bajillion pounds.

Oh the way to the Ragnar, after getting all three kids, a weeks worth of food, and my camera bag in the car, Mike asked, 'did you grab your camera off the piano?' Well crap, i have a bag full of extra batteries, lens, film, cards and no camera. FAIL.

i took this. i pushed the shutter and THIS came out. FAIL.

Turns out i am really bad at using a point and shoot camera. All the photos that i took on a borrowed camera were terrible. Like real bad. So this is why everyone has ditched small cameras for the iPhone...

Rough Rough Rough.

Monday i came back to the city, but the weekend had more in store for me. Somewhere amid my countless hours on public transportation, train to bus to subway, i caught the flu. Did i mention that i have a friend who has been staying with me and sharing my bed? Yeah, not so great when you have the flu and sleep for 14 hours straight...

luggage losing wheels, people losing housing, shoes full of puss, only 3.583 friends in the city, and an unpaid internship--new york apparently never got the memo that i love it and it should treat me kindly.

this is what a race looks like when i remember my camera...

On the plus side, i am finally going to see Sleep Walk With Me this weekend and hopefully find that Awesome Brownie that i found my first saturday here. Oh and i found out i get $30 a week from my internship. That makes me like thiiiiiiiis happy, that's like 5 Shake Shack burgers a week! (or a week metro card--which is what i think i am supposed to use it for...)

On days like this, you just got to throw on Fun. and listen to Carry On:

If you're lost and alone
Or you're sinking like a stone
Carry on
May your past be the sound
Of your feet upon the ground
Carry on

Carry on, carry on

Breaking Amish

(this is totally the theme song for that new TLC show about a group of Amish teens that leave the faith and move to Manhattan, if they can do it, I can too, right? Right?! I mean, television never lies or anything, right? RIGHT?!)


oh did i mention that i am still haven't found a place to live for the next two weeks? The only two weeks that i have people flying out to visit me...

I might love nyc this weekend, but right now--at this very moment--i kinda loathe it.

if you would like to send me a package, i would not deny it. Especially if it was this camera to keep in my purse at all times so i never have another epic photography fail. This is a point and shoot i can trust!

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.)

north dakota: never gonna happen.

If there is one thing we all know about me, its how terrible i am at dating. I was recently kinda dating someone in Utah but then i up and moved to the big city and he has sent me all of two one-line texts (no calls, no emails) in the last five days, so i assume it is safe to say that we are over and he doesn't really care to date me when i come back in January (don't you normally at least check to make sure they made it?! other random boys from utah did that...). Now i am in NYC--chilling at my friends apartment while her and her roommates are out of town--trying to find some friends a place to live. Currently i am striking out on both counts but that's not stopping me!

So i am not completely friendless, I have three. Allison--my dear friend who has been so kind to let me sleep in her couch, Jacob--a good friend from back home, and two boys that graduated a year before me in the photo program (but i don't have either of their numbers right now so they only count as one person together, but we are going to get together soon for dinner).

While i was on the phone with Jacob last night--trying to figure out when we can get together-- he told me this:

"you should try out okcupid.com, its a free dating site and it would help you meet people in the city. If you need a testimonial ask my friend. She wasn't getting asked out by the Mormon guys either and then she found this great Jewish guy on there who took her out on a lot of dates. After two months she realized that she didn't really like him romantically but it sure boosted her self-esteem in dating!"

And so to my own chagrin, i got on the site yesterday to check it out. I also decided that if someone does decide they want to ask me out, at least i get a free dinner out of it, and well, being an unpaid intern means i make the trek to Costco and then carry large boxes of food on my birthing hips back to the city... free food is so very tempting...

After looking over some of my results from the site i can't decide if i should be ashamed or amused.

First of all, WHY WOULD IT SUGGEST THAT bdavis_taco IS A GOOD ALTERNATIVE?

nothing screams "Date Me!" quite like throwing tacos into your username.

bdavisinabox also makes me sound super lame. i love being in a box.

Then i got this email. If you have ever talked to me about where i want to live when i grow up, i always answer the same "anywhere but the Dakota's because i choose to believe they don't exist."

The one person in all of Okcupid-dom that is the highest match to me must be the only person in North Dakota that is on the site.

Also note that Utah didn't even show up as number one, apparently i am more pure than average but not even enough for good old Utah. New York is no where on the list so i don't know that i will have any success out here...

and should i be worried that the US didn't show up on this list???

then after answering some questions this chart comes up. I think it is hilarious that in Utah everyone tells me how 'hipster' and independent i am, yet on here i am far from Indie or Independent...

This chart makes me look super lame and like a 60 year old trapped in a 24 year old body...

This seemed a little more accurate. my favorite lines in it are:

"...you are very choosy with your affections..." 

(no, i've never been called 'prickly' before... haha)

"You'd absolutely refuse to date someone dumber than you..." 

(damn right)

"babies do too (have a special soft spot for me) at the tippy-top of their baby skulls" 

(i am the best aunt, they love me)

And that my friends, is the current status of my dating life. If you know normal boys in the Manhattan area, send them my way. But make sure that he knows that he needs to buy me dinner. I am even good with a $6.25 burger from the Shake Shack, no need for anything fancy. 

walk twice, speak once, zero diplomas

photos by Rachel Call

photo by Rachel Call

This one time, being today obviously, i spoke at my college's convocation ceremony. I felt pretty cool just being asked to do so, you might not know this, but i like public speaking. Oh and this is my second time walking (i walked in April before I knew they wanted me to speak in August) and I don't actually get my diploma until December, a whole two credits of internship are holding me back...

After two meetings with Paul, two lunch meetings and three regular type with Val, one review from the committee, a handful of revisions, a dress rehearsal, and about twenty hours of my time, here is my five minute speech in its entirety.  I had the images appearing on the screen as i talked so this obviously isn't as cool. (If you select one photo it will display all of them in a slideshow way at the bottom of your screen, that way you can see them larger--as you should.)

From Crayons to Diplomas---Always an Artist
Fine Arts & Communications Convocation
Brigham Young University
August 10th, 2012

I always knew that I wanted to be an artist when I grew up. In the beginning the medium wasn’t important, I bounced between oil paints, crayons, fabric, clay and when my mother would permit, I would commandeer the family camera and take the allotted three photos. Back then, in my eyes, it only took 3 things to mean I was an artist and therefore bound for fame and glory:

1. My work had to be hung for all to see

2. It had to receive praise from the most prestigious source

3. It had to produce an income.

Being an artist was easy at age 5. I would line the walls of our home with my one-of-a-kind creations and charge my family admission to the “museum.” I even convinced my mom to purchase one of my finer pieces, 'The Girl Turkey Mermaid,' when I threatened to rip it in half if it wasn’t procured. With that purchase I knew I had hit the big time, the most prestigious people in my life, my parents, had not only made my work profitable but had given my work praise.  It didn’t occur to me then that almost every kid in the nation had access to a 64 pack of crayons, parents that thought they were the cat’s pajamas, and the complete work of Dr. Seuss to borrow ideas from.

Though it has always been popular for children to gravitate towards the arts because of the creative nature and bold colors, these days it’s become increasingly more popular to use the same motives to claim one’s self as an artist in adulthood. Hipsters are cleaning out thrift stores of antique cameras and every smart phone user can access Instagram, the largest photo sharing social media app in the world. Some of us might have gotten into the arts for these hip reasons or to be an ‘individual’ but, it doesn’t really matter what got us here, just that we found a reason—within each of us—to stick out the long days and sleepless nightsto create, print, and frame our work.

With my weak argument about what it took to be an artist as a child, it is no surprise that it took me years in the program to finally understand my own need for art. In the beginning I stressed completing assignments with the correct methods and techniques. The ability to release the shutter at the correct moment wasn’t making me an artist; my work lacked a personal voice and motive. It wasn’t until I decided that I wanted to spend my last full year of school devoted to a personal project that I rediscovered the love for photography that I had gained as a thirteen year old when I spent every penny I had on my first camera. In 8 months I traveled to all 9 of my siblings’ homes to photograph them. I took over 7,000 images ranging from potty training their children, to carefree motorcycle rides, to giving birth, to Thanksgiving dinner. This project reminded me that I became a photographer to capture the moments in life that are ordinary but show personalities and evoke memories.  Part of my artist statement for that show read, “Most photographers spend more time working for clients than documenting the people and moments that mean most to them. To photographically neglect my family would be the greatest failure of my career.”

In one of my favorite books about creating art, Art & Fear, the authors, Bayles & Orland explain, “The desire to make art begins early. For some the desire persists, and sooner or later must be addressed. And with good reason: your desire to make art beautiful or meaningful or emotive art-is integral to your sense of who you are. Life and Art, once entwined, can quickly become inseparable; at age ninety Frank Lloyd Wright was still designing, Imogen Cunningham still photographing, Stravinsky still composing, Picasso still painting.”

Like me, the desire to create art persisted in my fellow classmates. The following images exemplify how they were able to push through the creative process and find their own voice. 

Having a career in photography means that we are competent enough at our medium to create an image for a client as they envisioned it, but being a photographer means that we spend our time—between jobs—working on the images that will sustain us as an artists and humans. One of our professors, Paul Adams, constantly says “if you can imagine yourself doing anything else, get out of photography now and do that thing instead.” He understands that being an artist isn’t a career choice; it’s who we are. There is a quote that we keep hung in the dark room that further illiterates this point “Artist don’t get down to work until the pain of working is exceeded by the pain of not working.”

We learned how to successfully execute our mediums in school, but it is in our hearts that we find our passion and use it to transform blank canvases. At times our friends and family won’t understand how we can always be thinking in terms of art, how when we look at a blank, boring, white wall we see color or artwork that should hang there. But we aren’t artist for them, we are artist for ourselves, because we really don’t have a choice. It is at this point that we begin to fear. We fear that we aren’t talented, that we will run out of creativity, that other people are better, that no one—not even our mom— will love our work, and lastly that we are just students and our life as artists will end with graduation.

When the fear sets in, I remember the personal projects. I remember that not all artwork is great, that usually it takes many failed attempts to have what I envisioned come to fruition. I remember that just owning a camera doesn’t make me an artist. But most importantly, I remember that first moment I knew I could not live without creating art.

Thank you.

priorities askew

mallory and me cira 1990(?)

Mallory--"Hey Bethany, what are you doing?"

Me--"Oh you know, just painting my nails and watching The Bachelorette."

Mallory--"So when are you going to update your blog about all those crappy reality shows you watch?"

Me--"I am thinking about doing it tonight, it just depends on how much energy I have after my nails are done drying..."

Excuse me? WHAT?! 

What could possibly have transpired in my brain to make me think that sitting perfectly still has the ability to squander all my energy?

Reality tv, it happened.

I have always lived the motto 'early to bed and early to rise,' not because i thought it would make me wise--mostly because i am a weakling when it comes to staying awake-- but so as a kid i could watch a good solid half hour of television before i went to school. I would turn on the gas fireplace, sprawl out on the carpet with my favorite blanket and warm my feet on the glass of the fireplace as I watched the classic Micky Mouse cartoons (i would also hold snack-size Hersey chocolates against the glass so when i opened them they would be the perfect melty consistency. Yes, even then i thought chocolate after breakfast was a good idea).

For awhile i broke this bad habit. I lived with roommates--that weren't/aren't my favorite people--and i would leave the house as soon as i could. Now that i live alone and finally started paying for internet and scored an iPad from work, let's just say that i lounge around a bit more watching crappy television.  I am trying to break the cycle of laziness but alas i can't pull myself away from the train wrecks that are forever available through Netfilx, Hulu, and Amazon Prime! Why do there have to be so many options? Why can i view them on my Roku and computer at home, on my iPad at work, and my iPhone EVERYWHERE else?! I just can't get away. 

Reality tv has its downfalls, heck, i wrote a four page paper last summer about how The Bachelorette/Bachelor are detrimental to our society and the ideas of intimacy. But it also has some fantastic upsides, the upside of feeling overly accomplished and fan-freaking-tastic. We all have this sick fascination of wanting to see into other peoples' lives, this is why we people watch at the airport, why we like driving through fancy-pants neighborhoods at night when it is easier to see into the brightly lit windows, why we blog and Facebook stalk our newest love interest, and lastly, why we stare at the television for hours as men, women, and children make fools of themselves before our eyes. 

We want to know how other people live and not-so-secretly we want to feel better about ourselves. 

At this time i am not going to tell all the 'i-don't-want-to-give-you-my-netflix-password-because-you-could-see-my-ENTIRE-viewing-history' shows that i have watched since the height of my Netflix/Hulu use, but when it comes to reality tv i have been sucked into the following: The Biggest Loser, Sister Wives, My Strange Addiction, The Virgin Diaries (mostly just this clip WATCH IT NOW!), The Bachelorette/Bachelor, Teen Mom, Teen Mom 2, 16 & Pregnant, Engaged and Underaged, The Real Housewives of New Jersey, and basically all of TLC. 

     

Why?! his hair is so wafty and weird, but its that damn smile--toying with everyone's heartstrings...

Just like how i used to lay my head against the window as Mallory and i drove to piano lessons late at night and gaze into the lives of the wealthy through their bay windows-that they should have closed-there is something about gazing into the lives of others. With some i long for certain aspects of their life, i wish that Jef (who is from Pleasant Grove none-the-less, i could WALK to his doorstep) wasn't on The Bachelorette but was taking me on a date, or that i could eat one of those 5 star meals that the women from The Real Housewives would walk away from because of a catty misunderstanding about fake boobs or cheating husbands.

Then on the flip side there are those that you don't long after but leave you in amazement at yourself and how far ahead of the curve you are from your peers across the country. This happens when you see girls slap their boyfriend and then jump onto their bed that that never has a fitted sheet (nothing grosses me out more) to sob a hot mascara mess everywhere like on Teen Mom. Or waddle out of gym while swearing and hurling weights at Bob from the Biggest Loser (and for the record i am down over 10 lbs since the first of the year and feel even more justified). Or that even when i was 16 and in the Virgin Lips Club, i knew that first kiss shouldn't look like fish resuscitating each other...

And that is why i can't give it up. I will never go as far as to apply to be on a show, even if i am 45, still single and The Bachelorette was my only hope (or worse, The Virgin Diaries). Is my life worse for the wear because of this addiction? Probably a little less productive but at least my self esteem got a 5 point boost. 

Maybe now isn't the time that i should say that my friend Cameron once said that out of all our girl friends he would be least surprised if i announced that i got knocked up. If that happens i am totally going to the mid-twenties-single-mom-on-the-prowl reality show. It would make me tens of dollars to pay for all the trashy miniskirts i would have to buy for filming purposes. 

and for the record, cameron was wrong. 

No babies will be kicking their way out of this newly tightened abdomen anytime soon. 

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)

five years

the first time i went back to his grave after the headstone had been put in, i am still proud of the design and that it is not your traditional marker,  just like how he was not your traditional father.

The other day i realized something, March 8th had come and gone and i didn't even notice. There is a point when you loose someone that you don't think you will ever forget when they died, and then one day you do and you feel a little guilty. I remember a few years in a row i would go to Burger King on March 8th for my annual Whopper and Dr. Pepper to remember the good times i had with my dad, the times when i was a fat little kid and we would eat way too many whoppers while we made ships in bottles. He didn't even get made at me the time i drilled through the boat and into his kitchen table-probably because he realized he never should have trusted a 10 year old with an electric drill... And now that i don't remember the day he died i realized it is better to remember all the other days of the year that he was alive. The days he made the covers of magazines. The days he would ride the elevator with us, turn off the lights and make the scariest cackle/laugh ever. The days he played chess with me or taught me how to carve wood. Or the days after Christmas when he would eat the entire jar of stuffed olives that we gave him in one sitting.

my high school graduation in June of 2006, our last picture of just the two of us

Oct. 2006 the last vacation my dad had, he came to Utah to see the BYU kids and his siblings.

I currently have 10 copies of this magazine in my possession, I guess you could say i have always been proud of it. The right image is of the Orlando Sentinel the time my dad made the cover for stealing a B-17 bomber when he was 17...

I remember the time i found the newspaper that had details for my dad's crash from 1989. I had never really known what had happened and it seemed weird that no one ever really said anything about it. It wasn't until i was in high school and one of my sisters and i were talking about how bad it was. We both knew that it would have been better for my dad if he had died in the crash, but i will always be grateful he hung on so i had a chance to spend time with him.  The last 18 years of his life were pretty crappy and I feel kind of selfish for being grateful that he lived them, i guess it just means that i have be something that he would be proud of to make that time worth it. 

i like to think that my creative side and photography skills came from him. that should make him happy. 

sometimes i worry

Tonight as i sat in my kitchen eating my dinner-roasted vegetables with a grilled salmon-while listening to my second Harry Connick Jr. vinyl of the night i realized something, i am turing into an old woman before my eyes. Not only did i make a fantastic dinner, i had from scratch sweet potato casserole in the oven, washed all my dishes, went around my apartment with my hand vac-sucking up all those hard to get areas-and sorted my mail.

now all i apparently need in life is a cat.

I think there are three things that are making me self conscious for my spend-way-too-much-time-in-my-apartment-alone habits. 

1. I watched a recent episode of 30 Rock where liz lemon realizes that she can get anything that she wants if she dresses up like a homeless old lady. We all know that i have a fear of becoming liz, and the fact that she likes being able to empty a room with her crazy demeanor makes me worry about my own habits of spending time alone. 

I want to be that kick a grandma, not a crazy wigged out old lady with bright purple makeup that empties the room with her foul language and crazy eyes. 

2. I started having date night with myself (this sounds way more pathetic in the written word than how i imagined this in my mind). This came about because i really hate dating. a lot. After being on the dating scene for almost a decade and mostly having a lot of bad date stories and only a couple keepers (where obviously the feeling wasn't mutual) i have decided that i need to learn how to be a good date. All this bad dating of the past can't solely be the guys fault...

3. I have also noticed that i am started to acquire strange habits because i live alone. I systematically switch where i sit on my couch so that it doesn't start to sag in the most sat in area. I used to be able to get up and be out of my house in 13 minutes, now it takes me forever because i have all these weird rituals. Same with going to bed, in the last couple months i have added unnecessary steps to my night time ritual before i can crawl between the sheets (i washed 21 pairs of socks in my last load of laundry, apparently compulsively changing my socks is among my rituals...). I also do things like alphabetize books and rearrange my pantry for fun. Not to mention that i now get super excited when i 'splurge' on items like soufflé pans and dinosaur candy molds. 

i really need to get out more.

unless i get out more this is all i have to look forward to on my way to senile-dom,

welcome to date night, 

the land of vinyl records, new recipes, a camera, and periodic spontaneous dancing.  

i think for this week's 'date night' i am at least taking myself out for a night on the town. 

Watch out Salt Lake, me and i are coming! 

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)

here's to the year

At the beginning of january facebook and blogs are plagued with resolutions. I however, am not one of those people. I tend to post photos--that i should probably be embarressed by-- like in one of my personal favorite blog posts about growing up. This showcased lovely photos from every year of my life to which one friend commented 'the bethany i know started somewhere around 2001.' Now that i have successfully covered all the awkward aspects of my quest to adulthood i figured i should just focus on just the last year--the 24th year of my life.

and since my birthday is in six days--a year after my post full of awkward photos--i still have a few more precious days time to find some more worthwhile/eventful activities to add before my 'year' is up. I will gladly take suggestions for such activities'.


This year I:


*Found my own apartment.
*Furnished and decorated said apartment with more cheap pottery barn items and original art than i thought possible.
*Learned that a couch that seats five only fits in an upstairs apartment when you take the banister off the stairs.
*Flew in 6 planes and took trains and automobiles also.
*Witnessed a birth and didn't even throw up or completely swear off baring children in the distant future.        
*Visited all 9 of my siblings homes.
*Spent 24 hours in vans full of sweaty runners during the ragnar.
*Ran to class from my office in orem more than once.
*Made my first attempt to do the midnight hike of Timp during my first 24 hour straight date.
*Fell alseep on the side of said mountain and gave up the summit for french toast at Kneaders.
*Successfully fed 50 people a turkey dinner.
*Wore red lipstick with confidence.
*Painted my nails an outlandish color almost weekly.
*Only tore a 4"hole in two pairs of jeans-of course in the butt and still wore them in public
*Went back to school full time but only for spring/summer terms.
*Called a professor an ass in class, he deserved it and may not have heard it.
*Wrote a paper for class on a typewriter.
*Drove a byu van full of students through a blizzard.
*Found out my favorite professor reads my blog.
*Mallory helped me rediscover that combining dog, pig, and cat noises is the funniest sound you can make.
*Went on dates with 6 different guys, which blows my semi annual dates of years past out of the water.
*Had multiple smellers--its like stalkers but they smell you instead of watch you.
*Gave up coke for club soda with copious amount of fresh lime.
*Lived off only fajitas for two weeks straight.
*Discovered that i make the most beautiful and equally delicious carrot cake.
*Terrified my nieces by talking to them in my sleep.
*Discovered the magical power of vinyl records.
*Dominated business phone calls with eBay and found out that we are in the top 2% of all accounts.
*Let a puppy sleep in my bed.
*Had my heart broken for the first time.
*Took over 5,000 photographs in the last few months.
*Stopped (it is still an ongoing process) frivolous shopping in hopes of having more money to put towards a house in the coming months.
*Realized the only aspect of living alone that terrifies me is showering, so naturally i shower with the door open with a clear curtain.
*Added someone on facebook solely because of their blog and only felt slightly creepy for it (we do have mutual friends so that cuts the creepy factor at least in half).

I also realized somethings about myself and made changes, if you are one of those purist you can call them resolutions.

I realized that i am much more interested in food than i thought and changed a lot of my buying/eating habits. I now only eat meat that looks like meat (you know what i am talking about, that lunch meat that looks like smooth plastic and chicken nuggets...). I buy local when i can and always buy local eggs and milk. I also stopped eating fast food, my skinny jeans are oh so ever grateful. And for the most part i don't eat much bread, it is my heroine of the food world...

Realized that i am too old to eat whatever i want and actually have to do that thing they call working out. I then remembered how much i love weight lifting and that if you give me a riveting enough show to watch i can forget i am on a treadmill. Breaking Bad, i am forever in your debt for those hundreds of calories you helped me burn (And for the most amazing end of a season ever, seriously, EVER).

Found new loves in music like Bon Iver, The Middle East, Blind Pilot, Dr. Dog, The Avett Brothers and Florence and the Machine. They are slowing winning my heart over enough to be purchased for my coveted record collection.

I have also realized that no matter how much i rag on dating, it is a necessary evil and one day i will champion at it. It is, after all, a sport you only have to win once...

i've always been an angel.

My dad was a pretty cool guy. Not only could he have been a member of Barnum & Bailey with his super human strength, but he also designed and built some pretty intense contraptions like: jet skis (in the 50's, before they were a common thing), a car frame out of a swing set, some weird hover craft (or so what i think someone told me it was) that i remember from my childhood, and last but not least--airplanes.

His main airplane was tailless and a marvel in the aviation world. This novel design landed him on the cover of national magazines and inside a slew of others. When i was younger i liked to rifle through the storage room and look at all the old magazines, photos and newspaper clipping about my family. I was always slightly disheartened that i was the only child not pictured in a magazine (i even remember reading the articles about Sarah in the local newspaper over and over--my mom had it laminated...). When Home Built Aircraft did a story on my dad in 1987 they included a family photo, alas i was not even a thought yet, the baby is Mallory. I decided today that i would change that. I don't know that this counts--okay, i know that it does not--as me being part of a photo that was available on news stands, but now i feel a little more connected to the Davis clan.

this is what you do when you go home from work early because you feel sick. photoshop and eat 12 bagel bites in one sitting... one things for sure, a dozen bagel bites is never a good idea especially when you already feel under the weather...

everything i am, i was by age 9

Sometimes i like to tell myself that i only get more awesome with age. Recently i went through my first journal and realized a sad truth, i am exactly the same as when i was that goofy little kid with glasses so large they gave me sunburns on my cheeks.







November 25th, 1994 (age 6)


I am giteen my ckast oof in tue weex.

Okay, my spelling has improved a bit ( i can now spell words that have more than one and two letters correctly), but i think that is mostly due to the invention of spell check. The day the inter-webs came equipped with spell check i cried a little--happy, happy tears. I also am still just as unfortunate in the injury aspect of life... at 6 i (levi really) broke my arm but it just got worse with age as i progressed to sprained ankles, ankle reconstruction, and hip surgery...

February 9th, 1995 (age 7)


I am Mad at mom becaus mom and dad are going out to eet and tomorrow my famulee are going out to eet and I can't go becus I am going to Colette to spend the night and I can eethr go to Colette's or out to eet.

i just look so at home eating out. This was obviously before i ate out too much and got a bit chunky

One time my friend asked my mom how i got to be such a fantastic cook, her answer was 'well it makes sense...she has always really loved food.' That was the nice way of saying that i was a little bit chunky. I probably like food even more now but i do have a greater appreciation for raw food and have stopped eating fast food, which is what my family was probably going to get. That or dinner at Flying J...

organize much?

April 27th, 1997 (age 9)


Now about our new car its a tin green. Has 7 seats, back windows that open. 5 cup holders, theres I think 5 cumpartments that hold sun glasses, a grog opener, a spy glass, and change. I gess that times four. Well I'm tired so I going to bed because it is 10:18 P.M. so good night journal. 

by style and by color, the way every closet should be.

Obsess about details much? I am slightly ocd, count things and organize to a fault. I also always know the exact time and am super punctual. I am  still terrible at explaining things, kinda like the 'I gess that times four' sentence.








May 3rd, 1997 (age 9)


I'm sorry my enchreys are so boring but hey I have a boring life.

Okay, this one is not true. I am not boring. For example read: terrors in the night, 23 years and counting, davises go all the way, etc. etc. etc.


May 8th, 1997 (age 9)

I don't have very much to say so don't exepte a lot. I'm going to bed now even tough it only 9:00 because when I sleep with Lynsey, we talk about going to camp until after ten 30 o,clock.

I make 10:30 (ten 30 o,clock to be more exact) seem like 4 am. I am pretty sure i have the same sleeping schedule that i did when i was 6. And, if i didn't sleep so much i might not get the amazing night life chalked full of sleep walking/dancing/singing/scarring children and over the top vivid dreams.

i might own a small business now but getting my mba is next.

May 13th, 1997 (age 9)


When I'm 30 or when I'm marryed I'll look back and see how funny I wrote. It will be funny.

Next month i will officially be in my mid twenties and on my way to single at 30. But i did forget to add that when I'm 30, i'll also be and a wicked hot/fit power business woman in a fortune 500 company.










May14th, 1997 (age 9)


I'm glad to day I didn't have any G.A.T. home work. I'm glad that after tomarow I only have to go to G.A.T. one more time.

I like to think that i am an exceptionally smart individual and logical. Sadly, i still have major blond moments (like the time my sister jokingly said she wanted to go to Chip and Dales for her birthday and i said, 'why you like nuts?' referring to the squirrels. Yes, i said squirrels, I couldn't even get the breed of rodent correct let alone type of establishment.) For the record, i was in the Gifted and Talented Education program. You know, GAT with an E...

oh my little tom boy. i think it only worked when she was flat, once she got bitten by the boobie fairy she decided to get more girly. once you get boobs you either have to look super chubby/butch in over sized clothes or get over boy clothes and embrace your true gender. i'm so proud of you mallory :)

October 29th, 1997 (age 9)


I have some prity neat stuff to tell you. 


The first thing is Sarah is going to get married to Lucus Bushwiller! She was going to go on a mission but instead she is going to get hiched her wedding is Decemeber 20th at 1:00 P.M. We are having the wedding the wedding resepion at our house. It seamse reallyweird but it is happening. She got engaged Oct. 28th at 4:00 P.M.

realization i'm a girl

tom boy side

One thing that has changed with age, my girly side has come out. I think that mallory scared all my girly-ness out of me. She was a tom-boy to the max and brutally made fun of anything pink and or frilly. Once i stopped being scared of mallory i started wearing fitted clothes and painting my nails weekly. I also, not so secretly, love weddings and all the nitty gritty details. Apparently at nine i never talked about weddings, just wrote them in my journal--secretly--where mallory's prying eyes couldn't see it--or punch me for it.

sadly i don't know that i have one normal photo of us. you know, whereboth our eyes are open?

Novemeber 3rd, 1997 (age 9)


At Maple Grove this year we got a lot of kids from Hrizen. There is a new kid in my class named Jesse, he is 3 and a half inches shorter than me and is three mouths and about a day older than me. He is pritty funny, he tells me and Amanda some pritty weird stoirse. Like when he was little he used to run around the streets naked because his mom couldn't cach him or one time he told us that he doesn't wear underwear, he wears boxers and he said that onehe got made at his brother Seth and ripped his ear on axednent And a nother time he told us that once he stoll a kids shoe at church so the kid started chashing him and right when he dropped the shoes the kid bit his bum! He said that it hurt pritty bad and that it hurt to sit down for a week. Me favroirt is when he told us that he took a picher of his brother Seth Naked!!! That  was kind of mean. Our family knows a lot of Jesse's family.  I think Jesse is pritty nice and does a lot of really onushell stuff. 


p.s. i don't like him

my high school best friend. we are/were so cute.

If i could figure out this much stuff about my crush at 9, image what facebook has done to my stalking abilities! The ps is my favorite. I did like him and in high school i finally admitted it and dated him. I guess my admission of crushes is a new thing. At 17 my best friend Stephen made my new years resolution for me, it was that i would tell him who i liked. This is why i will be single until i am 30. It took me 17 years to learn how to admit that i have crushes, it will take me another 12 at least to figure out how to successfully flirt.

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...

"would it be weird if i asked if i could..."

I once read that imogen heap and guy sigsworth named their musical duo Frou Frou because it is the sound silk skirts make when women dance that drives men wild. If a sound can drive men wild, i have found the scent. 

Meet my new best friend/worst enemy. The body shop's oceanus body lotion.

Okay, this isn't a new relationship, the smell of oceanus takes me back to my pristinely clean white bathroom in high school. At the time i was a live in nanny and home quite a bit. Being home and taking care of messy kids made me overly clean. Every friday i got in the habit of deep cleaning my bathroom, from scrubbing the grout to carefully polishing the sink hardware. My sanctuary was my room and bathroom, no one else used them, they were all mine, all white, all clean, and all mine. Because i used oceanus a lot at this time, it always makes me feel clean, especially since the smell is a sweet clean laundry scent.

I always took comfort in this smell, that is until recently.

I walked into dinner group a while ago and as soon as i shut the front door a boy started loudly sniffing me, moving his head from my feet to my face. "You smell so good!" he said. The loud sniffing caught me off guard and slightly weirded me out, "Um, thanks..."

things i thought would entice boys, cute outfits. can you tell i love dresses? a lot?

I purposely sat on the other side of the table from him while we ate but when i was leaving i was found standing next to him again. "Seriously, you smell so good! You smell like my great grandmother's house." Excuse me, your what?! He assured me that was a good smell, but seriously, I smell like old people and that turns you on?! I laughed it off like i wasn't creeped out and jokingly walked over to him (and another boy to asked if he could smell) stretched my nimble leg in the air and as gracefully as vanna white presented my leg for a millisecond snif.  

Then the second boy chased me out the door to ask me on a date.

part of my vast rainbow high heel collection

At church three days later, the first boy walked across an entire row of seats to sit in the vacant seat next to me. I had my suspicions but gave him the benefit of the doubt. A couple hours later i was talking to a friend in the bishop's office when out of the corner i heard "you smell so good." I turned to him and said, "that is the only reason you sat next me isn't it?!" not even sheepishly he answered "well, kinda, you just smell so good." I asked him if he wanted me to give him some of the lotion so he could smell it whenever he wanted but he said that it is my scent mixed with it. Creepy. I then slid out of the room sideways laughing a broken awkward laugh...

I had always thought that boys would notice more outward attempts at being lovely. I liked to think that when i dressed up, that is what would entice the boys--my intense collection of classy dresses and skittle assortment of rockin heels. Little did i know that it only takes a quarter size of fragrant moisturizer to make the heads turn.

Unfortunately, not the right heads. 

At fhe a week ago--a month after i was first smelled--i ran into the boy again. He casually looks over at me and says "hello bethany, would it be weird if i asked if i could smell you?" yes, yes it would. 

I told him i stopped wearing that lotion. He wasn't surprised that it was because of him. 

Don't loudly sniff girls. It is strange. And it made me stop wearing one of my favorite things.

my sister mallory, but my outfit, aren't we cute when we try?

i want to go to there

we dance alike

I have found a new love, 30 Rock. Why oh why did it take me so long to realize exactly how wonderful this show is?! The best part of the show of course is Liz Lemon and well--lets face it--we are pretty similar.

When Lemon's bra fell apart at work, i applauded her creative solution of scotch tape.

When she ate a PopTart that she found under the couch, i was jealous, the rare PopTart is pretty delicious.

we both love photography

When she had a false positive pregnancy test because of the copious amount of Mexican Cheetos she ate, i thought of my addiction of Natural Cheetos.

When she wants a baby but can't find any guy she would want to procreate with, it reminds me how i have a 97% chance of not being impregnated by going to bed before 10pm on a regular basis.

When she curses wearing nylons and spandex and it reminds me that i believe that a man that hates women invented nylons.

and the list goes on.

So here are my favorite Liz Lemon quotes:

we all know i LOVE to eat

-Lovers.. oh, that word bums me out unless it’s between meat and pizza.

-You are my heroine! And by heroine I mean lady hero. I don’t want to inject you and listen to jazz.

-My heart’s pounding like I’m watching Oprah’s farewell season.

-Jack Donaghy is gonna kill me and then he’s gonna kill you and then he’s gonna fold us up in a pizza and eat us.

-I want to go to there.

um this doesn't quite fit, i have never seen a Harry Potter film

-Hey, nerds! Who’s got two thumbs, speaks limited French, and hasn’t cried once today? [pointing thumbs at self] This moi.

-Thanks, it’s my own recipe. I use cheddar cheese instead of water

-Man, three weddings in one day, I’m going to be in Spanx for 12 hours. My elastic line is gonna get infected again.

-No, I'm going to tell Drew that I'm having a little welcome to the building party for him but there is no party and then when he shows up I'll laugh and say 'oh it's the wrong night' and then he'll laugh and say one glass couldn't hurt and then I will put my mouth on his mouth.

i have a secret, i kinda loved the Oprah show, that is until my roommates told me that i wasn't allowed to watch it anymore because Diana and i cried too much during her touching episodes...

And then today i felt like i had a Liz Lemon moment. You see, one day my friend told me that he looked me up in the church directory but couldn't find me. I of course gave him a hard time, "I am on the last page, my picture is pretty big, you can't miss me. Way to try and make yourself look good by saying you 'tried' to find me..."

So it turns out he was right. I am not in the directory, well not his or anyone elses but my own. Apparently the people that were putting the thing together didn't realize until they got to my house--to deliver my copy--that i wasn't in it. They promptly added me to the last page and gave me the only copy. This seems like something Studio 6h would do to Liz... everyone knows but her...haha

the end is in sight

In case you didn't know, i am in the sixth year of my undergrad.

SIX YEARS. for what? that's right, a degree in art.

For some reason--unbeknownst to me--i decided to put off my worst G.E.s until the last possible semester. That means that this semester, when i should be out frolicking in the sunshine, i am taking English 312 and Civilization 202 along with my BFA final paper proposal. 9 credits of sheer essay hell.

I have 13 hours to write a 5 page paper on Christian art depicting the annunciation through the 15-20th centuries. Once I turn that in, I have 7 hours to write a four page paper on how Mormon movies are detrimental to our society (oh and sleep, eat and work).

and this is how i am going to survive the next 20 hours...

i think i have a coca cola problem. nothing beats a cold coke zero with an entire fresh lime squeezed in it.

oh yeah, 8 cups of muddy buddies washed down with three types of coke.

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.