Coma. Toast.

Here we go again, on the carnival ride of my life, minus the Mexicans and admit one tickets. Just the nauseous, fun at first but then really shitty, dizzying experience that makes you wonder why you put so much effort into getting to the carnival in the first place.  

I think I have been cursed with something that makes the end of my months completely unbearable. Everything that is great only can last for approximately 22 days. Hey world, chap my ass AGAIN because it'd be absolutely great if nothing went my way AGAIN. Just the other day, after spending wonderful time with David, I got pulled over in a completely unfair way. The cop, who already had a lady pulled over, walked into the middle of the street and waved me down. Can they do that? And how, sir, were you radar-ing me? Obviously cops are out of this world and know a hell of a lot more than me. 

My cursing is bad today.

That same day I had the school call me and tell me I had double credit for a class I didn't actually take, but got credit for through high school smart kid courses. So supposedly I am now down three credits and can't get my associates at the end of this semester like I thought. Thanks for letting me know ahead of time Yudi Lewis. I could have easily taken another class this semester, since my schedule is the equivalent to that of a rigorous 5th grader. But now, I'll have to take a useless elective credit sometime just to get a meaningless degree. 

Then my relationship life once again kicked me in the face later that night. I think I've been repressing things and I completely put David's ex girlfriend out of my mind. I sent her through a worm hole in my brain to a land far away, but not that terrible of a place, because I have nothing against her. But what David and I began to form felt great. Even after all the crap that surfaced when this situation first arose, we actually became closer. Was that a good thing? I think so. I really like him. But at the same time, I know where the deepest part of his heart lies. So we discussed things again. Pain. I wish I could see the future. I don't regret anything. I don't want to surrender. I hate being second. I wish I could show him the things I could offer. I wish that life was fair. I wish I could verbalize my feelings in a way that would make everything gravitate towards my heart and then make everything go my way.

I wish that man I passed on the narrow staircase, or rather avoided passing, would have jabbed my brain with that claw for a hand of his and made me wake up from this coma. If I was anyone else I would have never been ok with this situation, but I don't want to be forced to let go of the feelings that I have. I'm being selfish. I will butt you in line for that shitty carnival ride, just to feel the enjoyment of the initial take-off, and then you will be the one wiping the vomit from my chin when it ends, like it always does. Disappointingly. 

I bet your grandma didn't vote Obama

Everybody has a racist grandmother. If you think, "nah my grandma is open-minded and full of equality" think again. Ask her what a Brazilian nut is called, and you've got a 72% chance she'll call it a "nigger toe." It's not that they should be scorned for these types of comments, because they were raised in a different time when these types of nick names were generally accepted in society.

My mom's mother was known for saying some pretty racially discriminating things. She once told my sister that her black baby doll was cute and that she'd "keep the baby, but ditch the husband." She also had a therapist that would visit her home, and before starting a story about him, she'd clarify that he was a French-Canadian-African-American. I wish people would run off a stream of my heritage in an introduction. "Here is Madge, your typical Welsh-English-Euro trash-American. One day she....etc." Of course, many of the things my grandmother said were outspoken and a little shocking. She once demanded that my brother saw her legs off because they hurt. She also showed me her breasts once in a lesson about kleenex and perspiration, but that's a story for another day...probably a day when your stomach is feeling strong and resistant. Good ol' LaRue. We all miss her.

My dad's mother isn't quite as harsh. The only thing I can really think of that might seem taboo is the fact that her heavy-set dog used to have a gorilla stuffed animal he would carry around and in her baby/puppy voice she would say, "Now Shadow, go get your black baby!" Shadow didn't like his white baby half as much. If I wanted to sound racist, I'd say it was because he was all black himself.

I've possibly offended you with this blog, but my point is that you should talk to your grandparents. It's amazing to see how society has changed through the generations. And next time you crack open a Brazilian nut, think of my "grandma wiff da glasses" as I used to say, and thank your stars you never got taught a lesson on tissue and grandmother anatomy like I did.

Intuitions.

So you know that initial feeling you get when you first notice something or somebody strange? I used to be a firm believer in that those type of feelings are usually spot on. However, intuitions can sometimes be misleading, mainly because I have a wild imagination, and I like to look at situations through my story-teller lens, in order to make whatever is happening into a great tale to tell later on. Here are two examples of my personal intuition. One is deserving of an intuition high five and the other makes my "first guess" deserve a swift kick in the ass.

Once upon a time there was a creepy old dude (I say old meaning around 45 yrs of age) who used to come into my work all the time. The leather vest, beady eyed stare,  and shorts in the winter were in no way appealing to me. He happened to work next door at the music store and would often come in to get water or pick up borrowed music equipment, etc. Every time he made his bashful entrance, I was cordial and greeted him with my ultra cheesy waitress voice. Supposedly, this was in some way leading the man on. I didn't think this however, because I use the same voice for crippled old women, babies in strollers, and frumpy housewives, and so far none of them have come on to me in any way shape or form. But I had this gut feeling about this man named Kevin. He gave me that "ewwww, I don't really want you near me" sort of feeling. It became worse after comments he aimed towards me like, "You know what I love about you? Your smile. It's infectious." Uh sir, you are infectious, like a disease I don't want to deal with. It continued to escalate until one day he came in, and after attempting to hide in the bathroom, he took me aside and told me he had a crush on me and informed me that he was "perfectly harmless." Sure you are. Nobody clarifies that sort of thing, unless there are suspicions floating around. So he was labeled Creepy Kevin by me and some coworkers. He even wrote me a note once that said for me to pretend like none of that had happened, and later I had a delivery driver pretend to be my boyfriend. 

So that whole mess died down and he seemed to disappear because we had this concept at work that he was a little bit on the predator side, and he told another worker that he wanted everyone to stop looking at him like he was a stalker. I'm pretty sure he was avoiding us after that. However the thought of Creepy Kevin still gave me the jitters. Then one day I received a text message from an old friend of mine that used to work at the same music store, informing me that Kevin had been fired from his job being caught kissing a fourteen year old in the basement. Thanks intuition. Thank heavens I never was lured into his van with no windows. 

Now for my intuition failure. A few weeks ago at work, I heard a horn honking outside. It sounded like someone was just laying on their car horn. So Peter and I were looking out the huge glass windows to try and see the commotion. Coming down Main Street was a fire truck, blasting its horn and behind it was a bus with its emergency flashers on, occupied by a bunch of bald dudes flailing their arms out the windows. This image was so strange to me. We were absolutely puzzled at what it could possibly mean. So here was our theory; they were obviously Mexican prisoners (Peter swore on his life that they had dark skin), being transferred somewhere on a bus with faulty brakes. So the fire truck was driving in front in order to get people out of the way, because there was no stopping this mobile prison! I was stoked to tell this story to everyone I knew. So the next morning I went to my parents house for breakfast and in one breath told the entire story to my patient father. At the conclusion of my theory he just had this befuddled look on his face, as if I had just told an awful joke. He then burst out laughing and said, "Oh Madelyn. You want to know what that was? A bus full of the high school swim team (hence the baldness). They just took state and made their grand entrance into town last night. Read the paper." And for the rest of the week, he told that story to every person he came in contact with. Thanks intuition, for at least making my father see what a complete imaginative moron he has for a daughter and perhaps making him the life of his business meetings. 

So when it comes to creepy old dudes, you are probably right in your apprehensiveness. But when you convince yourself that you just saw a runaway prison bus, think again.

Hey life, quit giving me all these damn honorable mentions.

So here I sit again. Dumped for the second time in a month. Wrapped in crappy feelings and confusion and trying to forget the fact that if letting myself get attached, closely followed by my ass being handed to me on a platter was a sport, I'd get the gold.

But in life I seem to always get the silver medal. I'm a good person, but there's someone who is great. I'm cute, but there is someone that is gorgeous. I am fun to be around, but you'd rather fill your schedule with someone else.

Us mother Tuckers (it's my last name, you squares. Breathe.) seem to have issues with getting emotionally connected to people and then when things don't go our way it is devastating. I have decided that getting dumped because your pheremones aren't up to quality standards isn't half as bad as being dumped because an ex came knocking at the door. Plus #2 has become one of my closest friends, and we will still be friends but now I feel second best.

And why is it that when one thing goes wrong in my life, everything else joins in on the "lets beat Madelyn's self esteem to a nice JUICY pulp." Take my car battery for example. Ok car battery. You've worked fine for months and then all of a sudden when all I want to do is go home and climb in my snuggie (the blanket with sleeves!) you decide to be a total dill hole and get all loose and incapable of doing your duty. And why is my relationship life always going in circles? Where did scarf boy all of a sudden resurface? And why are we chatting about Disney movies?

Somebody hold a pillow over my head, please. Or at least get me some more candy corn.

All I want to do is talk to David right now and have anything go my way for once.

I'll end this with a positive note. I drew a picture of an elephant with a face for a body and called it elephace. Also, a man told me I provided excellent service. Whoa perves, calm down. I serve PIZZA for a living. Get your mind out of the gutter, and pick up mine for me while you're down there.

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.

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. 

.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 uniqueface.com or iwearmonacles.org 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.