Saturday, January 31, 2009

Oh, bother.

There are so very many things that seem to bother me lately. I'm turning into a crusty old man at such a young age. If I was a golden girl I'd most definitely be Dorothy, and not because I look transgender, thank heavens. 
One thing that really rattles my chain is people who just feel the need to talk, no matter what situation they are in. For instance, a boy in my English class seems to ask questions just for the sake of hearing words exit his mouth, not to add to the lecture or gain insight. One day he blurted out, "Is that a juxtaposition?" Excuse me sir, that was completely irrelevant. Even if it was a juxtaposition, we don't need to discuss that. Cool you know big words though! "Is this blog a cornucopia of thoughts?" Look Big Guy, I can do it too.

Money is especially bothersome. I think I have a spending problem and I'm not really afraid to admit it. I just like to treat myself to things, whether it be Reese's Puff Cereal or a new pair of pants, I just have a hard time holding back. Plus amazing grant money is always shoving itself in my face saying, "Look I'm like a gift to you. Thank God your parents aren't wealthy and spend me."

Being forced to take pointless classes is always frustrating. I have learned nothing from my science class except that old professors find slightly dirty jokes to be worthy of a.) wasting a solid 15 minutes of class time and b.) a wrinkled thumbs up if it produces a silent chuckle from within. My ethics class consists of one of those "addicted to hearing my voice" men as mentioned above, and a student with a weird tick who is always involuntarily distracting me with his odd grunting noises. There's also the two girls who think that doing sign language is the perfect way to hide that fact they are communicating from across the aisle. But guess what girlfriends, just because you are "silently" talking doe
sn't mean that your hand motions are invisible to the naked eye and that your laughs are also muted. So, I rarely take anything from that class except the fact that my teacher talks weird because he is from Holland.

The cold has also been troubling me lately. I'm sick of scraping off my windshield because I always get home last and have to park under the trees out front where the sun never shines. I'm sick of all my jackets and I hate that the Kokua Hut has the oldest, most unreliable heater in the world. 

And lastly, why the hell would anyone go into Asian Studies as a major?

So with all this bitterness stewing inside of me I'll leave you with a message of love. I love fresh flowers. I love looking at art. I love listening to live music. And I love taking naps.  I also love the photoshop magic that Spencer mastered to make an image to put on a future blog page we are planning. Perhaps we have ourselves a business plan, folks.

Sunday, January 25, 2009

Chris Angel....MINDCRAMP!

Have you ever felt like all your creative juices have somehow been sucked from your soul and you are no longer an original being, but instead just a walking robotic shell of your full potential? It's weird and I know I just tried to sound extremely deep in explaining the matter, but that is exactly how I feel lately! It's as if everything that comes out of my mouth is just fluff. Just useless air dust that can penetrate nothing for the better or for the worse. Even my curse words seem to come out clean and my jokes are dry and unfulfilling (but not talented dry humor like my 7th grade math teacher, Mr. Schramm, championed.) I don't know what put me into this slump. I decided to set some goals though, that might help me in my quest for creativity. I'm not sure how these goals will help me, but I've always been quite the list-maker so somehow I feel like my metaphorical "dehydration" will be quenched with such a list. 

1. Make a quilt. (This frustrating process makes me feel accomplished)
2. Play my violin. (Theres something to be said about rosin-ing up a bow again. I'm not sure what that thing to be said is, however)
3. Learn ceramics (Make cooler stuff than that dumb mug I made up at Bennion Creek)
4. Write down my life stories (Because I am a grandmother)
5. Go somewhere new once a week (Stores, restaurants, people's houses, hallways, times, etc.)
6. Don' t drink soda for a month (That's just a test of my self control. Girl loves her coke. The liquid kind, not the powder substance, although equally addicting for me i'm sure)
7. Learn French (So Cardine and I can someday move to France and feel the power of travel)
8. Draw (Be a better artist. Creative juices flow with pencil and paper I believe)
9. Pose nude (Whoa. Don't ask how this is going to help)
10. Take a roadtrip (One of my favorite things to do. There are always stories to be told after)
11. Learn to cook (But don't become Kelli the culinary student/roommate with the no-tail kitten)
12. Cut my hair really short 
13. Get a new job
14. Eat organic foods 
15. Meet new people every day

If I could somehow imagine a cure for this state I am in, I would add curing this lack of mind cramping to the list as well. Maybe I just need someone to tell me that I am a unique person. Maybe I just need that sort of confirmation. Or perhaps I just need to occupy my free time better and do something useful instead of making lists and writing pointless blogs. 

Monday, January 19, 2009

.hip to be cloned.

I don't understand the whole hipster scene. Where do all these jokers become acquainted and connected? Is there a new online social network called or that I have been cyber excluded from? Do I have to wear a feather in my hair to be cool? I feel so lost. Also I feel so young. 

19 is an age where you feel the exact same as you always have. I can buy myself a sweet Cuban cigar now and post a picture of it online, so everyone says, "oh look at her. How clever. She doesn't smoke but she posted a picture as if to say that she does. What a prank." Then maybe I could break into the Provo scene and live a brief and temporary existence of superiority. I feel like that is what happens with that whole group of people. They do something "unique" once and it earns them some glory for a period of time until someone else comes along with choppier hair and pointier shoes and a flashy scarf. Then you are just another face on center street and if you are lucky someone will remember you one day. But that conversation with a shout-out to you will be short-lived and the subject will quickly change to the latest Saddle Creek band emergence and you have sunk back into normalcy. 

Honestly I am just a little bitter as of right now because I'm sick of trying to compete in this strange college student unique-ness contest. I listen to Saddle Creek records, I care about fashion and being my own person, but I will never be one of those glorified hipsters because I don't have a female entourage. I can probably count the number of friends I have that are girls on one hand. I don't feel the need to have a group of cloned me's following me around and providing me with an escape and double dose of sex appeal. I feel like I can stand on my own and if I can't be noticed alone, then the lookers are losers and they can have all the clones they want.

Monday, January 12, 2009

Moving up. Moving out.

So I finally branched out on my own and stepped/jumped/boogied on in to the world of adulthood. With a box of ramen noodles, a stick of butter, and some Life cereal I hope to survive for the time being. 

Our house has been christened as the Kokua Hut (the meaning is left up to your imagination). With four different estrogen packages, the house has a nice and diverse feel to it. Our landlord (dubbed the Captain) Bob Kirk is an interesting fellow, however. The first time I laid eyes on the king of over-explaining everything, I was greeted with a, "Just having fish problems!!" I'm still not sure why he felt the need to share that rather priceless piece of information with us, but it definitely left some sort of impression on me.

The Kokua Hut has just started its wonderful adventure. Today we even found the word "demon" carved into our knik-knack shelving unit. Thanks for the warm welcome, previous tenants. I bet it was the demon carver who also sent over a neighbor to ask us for a spare wire hanger, probably to jack our cars with. Oh how I can't wait to see where this road of my existence takes me. Three cheers for living on my own with awesome people! Hip-hip-hooray, son.

Thursday, January 8, 2009

Dump. Such an ugly word.

I tell a lot of stories. Some people don't know how to react to these seemingly small events of my life, but when I get them off my chest I feel...the exact same as I did before I told them. 

So I had never really had much experience with airports until this recent Christmas break, when I decided to fly by the seat of my pants and have an adventure. I had met a young(ish) lad from San Diego and we had become what society would call "boyfriend/girlfriend" material. I met him because an old friend of mine had become acquainted with him at, believe it or not, the airport. So after months of talking, and a visit from him to Utah, I bought myself a flight to the good old Golden State. 

I should have taken my first night as a sign from someplace higher than my own naive and vulnerable soul. The flight was cancelled. I ended up setting up camp with an architect and a veterinarian in terminal C11 and spent the night with a beach towel for warmth and a backpack to support my neck. Airports are loud at night, and is it a rule that the night crew has to vacuum the same patch of carpet eight different times in one shift? Needless to say, my 45 minutes of hellish sleep didn't leave me with the best taste in my mouth. Or maybe that was just because the cheap toothpaste Delta offered us didn't do a good job. 

The rest of the week was a blast. Six flags, holding hands, being a girlfriend, seeing the ocean sounds incredible, right? That's what I thought too, until tables turned when we got to the airport to send me home and we stood near the security gate saying goodbye. 

"Have you felt something weird the past few days?" he inquired. "I think we need to go back to being friends."
"Wow. What the hell?" I thought and then asked for a reason for this change of heart and relationship status.
"I realized a few days ago," he started, "that maybe I'm not as attracted to you as I thought I was. Have you ever heard of pheremones?"

REALLY? Was I all of a sudden in science/health class? Did he really just pull that one out on me? Talk about feeling like a complete idiot. Isn't something like that a factor you can figure out the first time you physically interact with someone? 

So I walked away knowing I would never see that boy again and feeling like an ugly hag of a human being, but you know what? He's the one missing out. I'm past it. Too bad I didn't get that architect's number...