Permission to suck? Granted.

Recently I've realized that I actually have an odd problem with perfectionism. Now, if you know me well, you probably also know that there is no way I could possibly be a perfectionist because I can sit on a pile of clean laundry stacked on my couch while propping my feet up on a two feet mountain of dirty dishes and not bat an eye.

But isn't your house usually clean when people come over?

Yes, this is why it's an "odd" problem with perfectionism. I obsess over getting my house spotless before people come over, but I'm perfectly fine with it being a mess when it's just me and Matt. I've realized that my concern of people's perception of me is far more than my concern that whatever I'm doing is benefitting me. Scary, right? I've always known that I am far too concerned with what others think of me, but I've realized that I'll go out of my way to make myself uncomfortable to make sure people don't think I'm flaky, messy, lazy, unhealthy, rude, or inconsiderate. I'm okay with people thinking I'm a little weird, a little geeky, a little quirky, but if I think they think there's something else wrong with me, I get really upset. One of the biggest places that this affects me in my life is with my grades. I am constantly at odds with myself because there are times when I feel like being with Matt, or hanging out with my friends, or talking with my family is much more important than studying. Yet, when I get my grades back and I'm falling behind at all (i.e. B instead of A grades), I freak out and feel like I'm a failure, and I'm lazy, and I need to focus on school more. Now, I don't freak out about grades because I honestly think they reflect my grasp on the material (I have a higher grade in math and than I do in Shakespeare.  I'm going to tell you right now how inaccurate that is.), I freak out about them because I think I'm disappointing everybody when I don't put my full effort into my homework. 

Is anyone really that concerned about your grades?

From what I've seen, nope. Not even my teachers are that concerned. One of my favorite professors bluntly told us in class, "No one cares about your grades except for you. In fact, grades aren't real. They're invisible, nonexistent points that you base your worth on. Your mom might pretend to care, but it will not affect her in any way if you get an A or a C. After college, nobody cares. In fact if you bring up your grades after college, people will think you have problems" (Brother Williams, 2013. That is not an exact quote. I just think dialogue is always more powerful than paraphrase.). I know this, it's not news, but I cannot let it go. I can't let that zero I got on my group work, because no one bothered to come to the group meting, slip by me, because isn't it my fault that we didn't get together? Couldn't I have been more urgent, more responsive to their emails? I can't let that 85% on my abstract slip by even though the professor said he really enjoyed it and gave me excellent advice on how to improve it, because after all, I did write it at 11 pm, and couldn't I have written it a day before and revised it before turning it in? You get the idea.

So what are you going to do about it?

Well, after getting a few comments from classmates and professors about how I'm an excellent student, and I must be really smart, and I must work so hard, I kind of want to bomb every assignment that comes my way because I don't feel this way. I honestly believe that I'm just as good of a student and just as smart as everyone else. If I really were some smarty pants genius, wouldn't school be easy for me? But it's not. I struggle, probably just as much as every other college student. But, because I'm so obsessed with how people think of me, I feel like I'd disappoint them if I bombed my assignments just to prove a stupid, unimportant point. I discussed this problem a little with my friend and second mother, Rebecca Watson. Really, next to my immediate family and other relatives, she's known me the longest. Anyway, she explained that in the Muslim culture, it's wrong to attempt perfection because only God is perfect and to attempt perfection, when it's obvious we're all imperfect and can in no way achieve that, is wrong. So they purposefully make mistakes in whatever they do to keep themselves humble before God. When she told me this, I immediately thought of a quote by John Green (my random mind likes to make connections all over the place).

I realized that this is what I've needed to do. I needed to suck at something. I needed to suck at something so badly that there is no way I could ever even pretend to be good at it, and no one would ever complement me for it. Okay, so I know that sounds bizarre, but I honestly try to do everything so well that I end up in that hyped up state, like with my grades, where I feel like I have to be perfect or I'm a failure. So, I wanted to do something that I would fail and fail and fail at and suck and suck and suck at, but despite that I'd keep going and doing it. So Monday night, me and my friend Michelle went to Zumba. Michelle's done it before, and she and many other friends have told me how much fun it is. Before I went, I told myself, "Self, you are the whitest most uncoordinated, stiffest person ever. Now go have some fun and dance like an idiot." So I did. And, just as the ever wise John Green said, it was "hugely liberating." I mean, I have done few more liberating things than that in my life. I just danced my heart out and knew, without a doubt, that I looked hilarious, but that's why it was so great because I was in an environment where I could look like a dork and NOBODY CARED. I hope that I can apply this to the rest of my life. In fact I'm going to try to enjoy it when I look like an idiot and fail. Because I'm human, that's what we do, and I only get to be human once.

Marriage is for Us

So, I recently returned from my best friend, now Alissa Johnson's, wedding. I was so bright and glowy from the love that I saw  between her and her husband, Tanner, that I was so excited to write about how much I love marriage. The entire ride home, a four hour drive, I could not stop thinking about how much I love my husband, how glad I am that I married him, and how glad I was to be apart of my best friend's beautiful wedding. I'm so in love with love that seeing other people in love makes me even more in love with love.

Me at Alissa's wedding

Alissa at my wedding

The earliest picture I could find of us. I think I'm 13 and Alissa is 14 in this.

You guys actually turned out okay.

I know, right? I think we turned out pretty dang gorgeous. Alissa and I have been friends for probably ten years now.  I had my last sleep over with Alissa on Thursday night, and I couldn't believe that she would be married the next day. I thought about the late nights playing Lego Star Wars, giggling about stupid boys and making up pretend futures with them, and the long phone calls when she moved away to California, and then suddenly I realized that we are all grown up now. It was a shock. I mean "technically" I've been an adult for three years now (although, I'm about as mature as the bespeckled girl with the braces above), but for the first time, I really felt the weight of my age. It just took my best friend getting married.

Anyway, I'm so excited for Alissa and everything ahead of her, and because of her, I started really thinking about my marriage. In the midst of these reflections, my sister called and directed me to a recent blog post made about marriage entitled "Marriage isn't for you." She mentioned that it really bugged her, and I have to admit, the title made me apprehensive about reading it. I read it though, and I can see why it bothers her.

Many of my friends on Facebook have been reposting this blog, which is fine. I'm not trying to slam them for liking it; I just want to explain why I don't necessarily agree with this guy. Also, you have to remember that both he and I have had a year and a half of marriage experience, so take everything we say with a grain of pretty pink Himalayan salt (Actually don't. That stuff is bad for you.).

First of all, talking about marriage is kind of like standing on a roof, looking down at the love corner. I'm the guy that was originally just excited to see people fall in love at the love corner, but then accidentally fell in love himself. Then there's the guy who is all annoyed with the guy who accidentally fell in love, and then he tries to fall in love but gets stabbed instead (Wow. Who says stupid youtube videos can't work as an analogy?). I got stabbed a tiny bit once, but immediately afterwards, I found the right guy at the love corner, so now I'm all goo goo eyed and lovey dovey. Most people aren't as bizarrely lucky though. Most people get stabbed and stabbed and stabbed and go on the roof for a while and are annoyed with the couple that keeps saying, "Get in love! Get in love!" and then either go back down to the love corner to try again or give up entirely. So what I'm saying is, if I'm going to talk about marriage, because of my position as a young, married woman who didn't date much before marriage, I doubt the single people who are sick and tired of the dating game or who don't want to get married in the first place will be particularly interested in what I have to say. So here's my warning if you're the guy who got stabbed: I'm about to stand on a rooftop and scream, "Get in love! Get in love!" Not to rub it in your face, but because one day you will get in love. Seriously. With the most amazing person ever. And you won't even understand how you could get so lucky. It's going to happen.

How many fragments did you just use there?

It's stylistic, okay. Anyway, back to that one blog post. I'm pretty sure his overall point is to say that marriage should be selfless. This is a very good point. I completely agree with him on that. How he goes about it though is... strange to me. I couldn't figure out why at first. Maybe it's his overuse of the passive voice, or his last line which says, "Truly, love and marriage isn't for you. It's for others." He says earlier that he was anxious about getting married to this girl, and his dad told him to get over it because if he could make the girl he wanted to marry happy, then he should marry her. This whole thing confused me, and whenever anything confuses me, I know there's something a little off with it. 

So, just like when I'm confused with math problems, I talked to my husband. I asked him why he married me. I asked him if he married me because he knew he could make me happy. He said, in his sultry, baritone timbre, "No... I married you because I felt like you could help me become a better person than I could be on my own. And because I was madly in love with you, of course." I agreed with him. I married him because I knew we would be far better off together than apart. Who better to journey this life with than someone that will help me become stronger, who loves me enough to get me hot cocoa and Barbie movies when I'm sick, and who I can fart in front of and he applauds? (I think those are good enough reasons for marriage...)

 I admit, there was a point in our early relationship when I thought that one big reason I was with Matt, my then boyfriend, was because he really needed me, and I liked being needed. I didn't feel like I needed him as much. Horrible, right? (smack, smack, smack past self). But I realized that this was actually a shallow way of loving him. "Oh, yes, well I love my husband because he needs me." This is kind of the idea I get from this guy's blog post. But that doesn't feel selfless to me. In fact, after I received a lot of humbling slaps to the face from life experience, I realized how selfish and wrong this way of loving Matt was. (I've found that the longer I'm with Matthew, the deeper and less selfish my love for him becomes. I've got a long way to go. I'm still selfish.). I soon realized that I need Matt. I am such a better person with him around. There was a point in our relationship, though, when we were trying to explain to each other how much we needed each other, and neither of us seemed to be satisfied about it. It was like we were fighting about who needed whom more. Finally, after some more humbling slaps, we both came to the obvious conclusion that I need Matthew just as much as he needs me. This, to me, is what marriage is about. It's about us. It's about us no longer thinking in "me vs. you" terms about anything. We love each other. We need each other. We make each other happy. 

This guy had some good ideas; I just don't like how they were brought about. There was far too much "me" and "you" and not enough "we" and "us" for my taste. Pronouns are very important. All of his uses of "I" and "me" made everything seem so one sided. But, the whole point of marriage is that it's a two way street, both people mutually working together to make each other happy. How he described this made it seem like the best way to decide if you should marry someone or not is by seeing if you make them happy, even if they don't make you happy. Please, for heavens sakes, don't get married to someone that you can make happy but who does not make you happy. It needs to be reciprocal. And it shouldn't be extremely difficult for it to be reciprocal. I cannot tell you how many older women told me as I was approaching a marriage appropriate age (which some might say I still haven't reached), "Marriage is hard." This mantra has been repeated to me so many times, but I never could quite believe it. Also, I feel like it makes people justify getting into harmful relationships thinking it's okay because, "Well, isn't marriage supposed to be hard?" I asked my mom (the other person I talked to when I'm confused) if marriage really is hard, her being happily married for nearly twenty years then. She told me, "Marriage isn't hard. Life is hard. People just blame that on marriage." I have to admit, after I got married, life got harder, certainly. In fact, the most difficult experiences I've ever been through have happened while I've been married. But if I had to experience those things alone, without my husband, I guarantee I wouldn't have been able to get through them. He's the hand that lifts me up when I fall down, the hug that embraces me when I'm at my lowest point, and the good counsel that soothes my deepest worries. I believe that people do have hard marriages (the divorce rate can attest to that). I believe that there are circumstances where marriages must be ended (Passive voice with the purpose to avoid blaming one specific person. That's how you use it, people). But I also believe that marriage is inherently good. I have no idea if there is a "right" person out there for everyone that can guarantee a happy marriage. But I do know that it is possible to find someone that makes you better, and who you make better, and that together you can make each other happy.

My husband, my voice of reason, brought up that love isn't quantifiable  Everyone has a different relationship and may work really well doing things that wouldn't work in another relationship. It's obvious that this guy really loves his wife and that they are very happy together. That's really fantastic. Like I said, I'm in love with love, so if he's in love, that's great. So maybe neither of our limited marriage experiences may amount to anything for anyone but ourselves. But my final word is, "Get in love! Get in love!" And I mean it. Fall madly, deeply, head over heels, and all those other love clichés in love. Let yourself fall so deep that you can't even imagine ever not loving that person. I promise it's not a stabbing corner. Those stabby people are just lost. It really is a love corner. So do it! And then invite me to your wedding so I can cry and hug you and revel in the joyous love emanating from you and your spouse.

Wisdom and Sherlock

I really can't tell you how upset I am that I've put off writing a post for so long.

Are you sure you can't tell us? Because it feels like you're about to tell us.

I'm especially upset because I told my lovely friend, Anna, who graciously visits my blog, that I would write a post two weeks ago, and then I never did it. Honestly, education takes up so much of my time that I wonder if it's really that important.

So, you're blaming school for your procrastination?

Yes. In fact, I blame school for a lot of things (my insanity, my zits, my hair loss, my weight gain, my headaches, pretty much everything). I'm serious, though, when I say that I wonder if it's worth it. Even when I have a really good day at school, and I have this awesome "aha" (that's so cliché; let's call it "oho") "oho" moment which makes me realize something deep and inspiring (or sometimes disturbing, if you're an English major) that I had never thought of before. But then I wonder if maybe I could have come to that deep conclusion on my own without the classroom and professor. I'm still not sure about that one. You see, I was homeschooled from sixth grade to twelfth, so I'm very proud of the fact that I've learned many, many things on my own. I understand how this pride is a huge fault and can prevent me from learning things. Trust me; I'm working on it. But still, I also know there are may things school can't teach me. 

Like love, morals, and character?

Sure, but I'm thinking a little broader here. In one of my homeschool classes, we discussed the relationship between wisdom and knowledge. We decided that knowledge is gained by memorizing facts, reading, and overall acquiring information. We also decided that wisdom is gained through experience and time. If this is the case, someone can be extremely knowledgeable or smart, but not very wise. I've actually seen this quite a lot in my life. Let me give you an example. I know a person (probably no one who reads this blog, so if you're thinking it's you, you're wrong) who is beyond smart, has very high IQ, but is not very wise, especially when it comes to social situations. This person will say things that are very taboo and offensive, then not understand why people are upset. I was thinking about this person on my way to school (which is when I have all my good thoughts), and I realized that he/she/it (don't you hate that there is no gender neutral third person singular pronoun except "it"?) reminded me of someone. I'll give you three hints:

#1

#2

#3

So, I have a confession. I've never actually read any Sherlock Holmes books.

What was that?

Sigh* Okay, so I've never actually read any Sherlock Holmes books. I feel like an English major somewhere just shed a tear and wrote me a nasty hate poem in blank verse. The truth is, everything I know about Sherlock Holmes is from the BBC TV show. So, I'm going to be talking about Benedict Cumberbatch's Sherlock specifically. When I watch Sherlock, I think, "Oh he's so cool!" "He's so clever!" "I wish he were real and I could meet him!" This is pretty much the extent of my thoughts for most awesome fictional characters. But, when I realized that the person I know who is socially inappropriate is similar to Sherlock, I realized I'd never want to meet him, and I feel really bad for John. I mean, Sherlock can be so mean!

This is about Anderson, but still, rude.

Despite Sherlock's rudeness, we forgive him because he's smart. In the show he has no friends, but in the fandom, he's considered the coolest guy ever. I'm thinking the no friends thing is closer to reality. Social wisdom, in my opinion, is even more important than being smart. If you have a brain that is bursting with genius ideas, but you can't explain them without insulting everyone, it may not be much good to you. On the other hand, there are other people I know who are extremely kind and make everyone around them feel comfortable, and yet they have little to no formal education or especially exceptional wit. I love these people. They're definitely not stupid because wisdom never equals stupidity. Their social wisdom can be used to diffuse an argument, put those that are distressed at ease, and overall make everyone feel comfortable and satisfied.  I'm not saying that you can't be smart and socially wise; I'm just relating the two extremes to give you a comparison. 

Let me expound on wit for a little bit. Wit is quick, funny, surprising, and clever. It's admired because it makes us laugh, whether it takes us by surprise or is just seriously funny. Wit can show a very intelligent person who observes and is confident enough with their observations to state them as soon as they come to their head. Wit shows intelligence, but not always wisdom. For example, I've known wit to replace actual conversation. Instead of discussing feelings, thoughts, and life changing events, a constant battle of wits is being exchanged to avoid all emotional or social pitfalls that can lead to pain (Yes, I realize I'm using the passive voice. It's on purpose.). In this case, intelligence is used to actually avoid gaining social wisdom. Instead of dealing with actual emotional or personal problems, we poke fun at them until the pain is laughed away.

So this all comes about from going to college?

No, probably not. But college, a high IQ, and an excellent GPA prove nothing when it comes to wisdom. Wisdom isn't only gained from our own experience, but from learning from the experiences of others. To experience things vicariously through others, you have to be selfless, sincerely concerned about their experiences, and willing to mainly listen to them and absorb, not give advice and judge. Wisdom opens doors to so many things, especially relationships and friendships. To me, the most important thing in this life is for us to love others, learn from them, and develop meaningful relationships with them. College has many opportunities for that, but only if the focus is not on yourself, but others.

This feels a little self-helpy.

Honestly, whenever I write, I'm usually just writing a self help manual to myself. So don't take it as accusatory (even though I used second person singular pronouns throughout). I know I'm not the selfless wise person I'd like to be. But, I'll keep working on it.

Something else offensive.

I actually have a DIY lined up that I was going to post here (even though I said I'd never do one), but things got so busy with my first week of school that I decided to wait until next week. This week, instead, I am pretty much going to rant. Since this is a rant, I know full well that it is subjective, biased, and solely my opinion. I do not claim to be right, just fairly right. 

This should be interesting.

Yes, and I'm almost 100% sure it's going to offend some people. You see, today I'm going to talk about modesty. Now, I'm LDS, so you may be expecting me to quote the "For the Strength of Youth" pamphlet, or something, but I actually have a very different view on modesty than most Mormons. For example, I do not care if some twelve-year-old is wearing booty shorts and a tank top because it's hot outside. And if you're thinking, "Well, what about the men that are going to see that and have immoral thoughts because of her immodesty," I will direct you to this blog, which explains my view point on that perfectly. If you are too lazy to click on it, let me just say, if a man is unable to control his thoughts because a little girl is dressed immodestly, he has some things he needs to work on. It has never been and it will never be women's responsibility to control the thoughts of men.

I'm just going to dive right in and talk about nudity. First of all, I think naked people are gorgeous. The human body is incredible. I actually am so inspired when I look at naked people. Don't laugh, and don't you dare assume it's for some perverted reason. I believe naked bodies are a work of art in themselves. I once found a portfolio a photographer had created of naked women. Each woman was unique. Some were fat, some skinny, some tall, some short, some old, some young, some black, some white. All of them were sitting in completely normal poses, like you would while you're talking to a friend or watching tv. They would bend over so their rolls would show, sometimes they'd grab their tummy and laugh,  and some were so skinny, they had no rolls, but they pointed to their ribs. The point of the portfolio was to show that women's bodies, no matter the shape or size, are beautiful. It really affected me and made me appreciate my body more because it has its own unique curves, rolls, and moles. Another place I love to look at naked people is the sculpture gallery in the National Art Museum. It's just full of naked statues. In fact, I doubt there's a fully clothed statue in there. The artists knew the body so well; everything is in proportion, the muscles and bones are considered, and the positions they are in reflect the stance of an actual person. I am always inspired when I spend a day in that museum.

I have to say, I do not find naked people offensive in the least. Now, if some of you are thinking, "Isn't nudity pornographic?" I'm going to direct you to some key points in understanding the human body. First, nudity and pornography are not the same. Yes, nudity is used in pornography, and yes, to a mind that is prone to immoral thoughts, nudity can be pornography. But a naked person does not automatically mean pornography. If you just look up the definition of pornography, you can see how nudity is not pornography: "Pornography is intended to stimulate erotic rather than aesthetic or emotional feelings." Nudity can create aesthetic or emotional feelings, as demonstrated in my experiences above. Second, the human body is not evil. There is nothing bad, wrong, or evil with any parts of our body. I believe that our bodies were created by God, and he never put an evil part on us. My mom taught me this when I came home from school one day upset because a kid told me my middle finger was a bad word. She sad that Heavenly Father did not give us any bad fingers. The same goes for the rest of our body. Finally, do you know who wants you to think that our bodies are evil? Satan. Seriously. The LDS are taught that Satan was not allowed a body because he rebelled against God. He is miserable because of it, and misery loves company. He loves to convince us that our bodies are somehow bad or not good enough, whether its through low self-esteem or jealousy.

Despite the fact that the LDS are taught this, while I lived in Utah I honestly felt like my body was unnatural or disgusting somehow, which I believe was partially because of the attitude that many LDS have. I lived in Utah from the time I was eleven up to the summer before my seventeenth birthday. Before I lived in Utah, I honestly never thought about modesty. This is probably because I was eleven, but I noticed that in Utah there seemed to be this hyper sensitivity to immodesty. I was told not to wear lace because it made men think of lingerie. I was told that I needed to stand in front of a mirror and scrutinize  my outfit to make sure no skin that might inspire immoral thoughts in boys was showing. I was told that it was okay and expected for a boy to refuse to go on a date with me if he thought I was immodest. By the time I was fifteen, I hated my body. It didn't seem to conform to these standards. I've been 5' 10" and a double D since I was fifteen. Even those Down East Basics shirts that are supposed to help with modesty would give me cleavage. I pretty much have to wear a turtle neck to avoid cleavage. My long legs made it very difficult to find skirts that didn't show my mid thigh when I bent over. I was obsessive about staying modest, but in my mind, it was never enough. This terror that a boy could think bad thoughts about me led me to believe that my body was somehow bad. Eventually, we moved to Virginia where things got better. I had many very open minded friends that weren't afraid to tell me how innocent and prim I was. I realized that it was okay that I had cleavage sometimes and that my skirts sometimes went above my knees. It wasn't because I suddenly had a rebellious desire to be raunchily sexy. I just realized that I was naturally kinda freakin' sexy, and that was okay. I also realized that modesty is not the best virtue you can have. If you only have modesty as a virtue, but you are a lying, cheating, gossiping, and rude person, you don't have much going for you. However, if you are full of truth, honesty, patience, kindness, and love, but you struggle with modesty, I'm pretty sure you are doing okay. I decided that working on my other virtues that I struggled with far exceeded the importance of obsessing over modesty.

Now that I'm older, I have no problem whatsoever with my body (on most days). I'm completely comfortable with my boobs and my legs, and I've gotten better at finding things that fit them. It took a long time for me to reach this point because I had been so affected by my time in Utah, so I become incredibly defensive when anyone tells me I'm not modest enough. One of my first semesters in college, I had a roommate tell me, while I was doing my mascara, that I needed to be careful when I bent over that day, because apparently I had cleavage. I stared her right in the eyes and said, "Honey, I always have to be careful when I bend over." What I really wanted to say is, "You have no idea what you're talking about, you flat-as-a-board twig. If I had a penny for every shirt that would fit you perfectly but give me cleavage, I'd be rich enough to by myself  fifteen wardrobes full of modest shirts." I take pride in my modesty, and I am extremely offended when people, men or women, feel that they have the right to determine whether I'm modest enough for their standards.

By this point, you probably have a full understanding of my stance on modesty, so I'm going to bring up the topic that is probably the most different than many of my peers. I think it is okay if little kids are immodest. I believe even saying that a little child is immodest is like saying a little child is sinning. They are innocent. I think it is adorable when little two-year-olds wear bikinis (also, do you know what a pain it is to have a kid in a one-piece when they're potty training?). There is nothing wrong or degrading about a little kid running around in their underwear or buck naked. If it is evil for children to be naked, why are they born naked? My mom has a picture of her when she's probably eight-years-old wearing just some panties and an unbuttoned button down shirt while she plays outside. I think it so perfectly captures who she is. I'm not appalled that she would run around outside like that. She was a child, and there is nothing more pure and innocent than a naked child running around and playing. People who think there is something wrong with that, or think that it is teaching them immodesty, are just reiterating the idea that our bodies are only sexual. Those little children are already being sent the message that their bodies are only sexual by the media. Instead, we need to let them know that their bodies, whether clothed or not, are perfect, sacred creations made to house their bright little spirits. Teach them to appreciate it, love it, and not be ashamed of it. Because being ashamed and embarrassed by our bodies is exactly what Satan wants. Now, why would we want a little kid to feel that way? 

People need to stop objectifying others, especially children, because when you point out and judge someone just because they are immodest, that's what you are doing: you are only seeing them as a body that needs to be covered up at risk of causing sexual thoughts in others, instead of seeing them as a child of God with many virtues that you've disregarded because you've stereotyped them as immodest. 

So, I'm comfortable with naked people, I'm okay with my hard to cover up sexy curvaceous body, I think it's okay for little kids to run around with little to no clothing, and I'm a Mormon.

Yeah, I don't think those "I'm a Mormon" people would let you on their blog.

Probably not, but that's okay. I'm still a struggling, doing what I can, strongly believing in my wonderful God sort of Mormon just like the rest of them. I just get angry when anyone takes doctrines and blows them up past the standards of the church in order to create their own standards. It happens a lot. 

Are you done ranting?

Sigh* for now. I don't know if any of that made sense actually. I was kind of on one. And now I brace myself for the hoards of outraged Mormons with pitchforks.

The Queen of the Awkward Children

When I was a teenager, my sister would call me the "Queen of the Awkward Children." This was not meant to offend me, and I never took it as offensive. In fact I held the title quite proudly. You see, I had some strange power that made all awkward children, young and old, flock after me. They were often the pimply, bespeckled, greasy sort of kids that had hearts of solid gold. The reason why they followed me? Because they knew, no matter my attempts to hide my past, that I was one of them. Let me show you a picture of me when I was twelve. 

That's pretty bold of you.

I don't know what it is with people hating pictures of themselves during their prepubescent stage. I mean, we were all funny looking. I'm okay with it because I know I don't look like this now most of the time.

Okay, yes, sometimes I look like that. But only at home. My husband is the only one who has to see this now. And the neighbors when I take out the trash. Anyway, as you can see, I was a self conscience, chubby cheeked, greasy twelve-year-old who had high hopes for the future. Basically, an awkward child. 

What the crap is that furry thing?

That's Sissy. She's a... dog. Don't ask. My point is, look at me now (sexy eyebrow waggle):

Eh... That wasn't the right picture. Let's try this again.

Phew, okay, there's that good lighting/make-up/photoshop magic.

What exactly is an awkward child?

An awkward child is anyone who doesn't seem to fit in any specific place. They don't even seem to fit in their own skin. They never know where to put their hands, they often commit social faux pas, and they always seem to be dressed like they're a decade behind. Also, they always have four inches of ankle skin showing above their white tennis shoes. And they are the nicest people you will ever meet. When I was a teenager, I remember these kids as the ones who would come and talk to me about something they were really excited about. They never seemed to be afraid to divulge into their geeky secrets when I was around. I loved these kids, but I didn't hang out with them much because I was too busy trying to hatch out of my cocoon of awkward and turn into a cool, stylish, popular butterfly. I'll admit, I moved past my awkward stage. But I don't think I ever figured out how to be cool. You can see the progression of less and less awkward, but this wasn't because I was cooler. It was because I learned to like my awkward self for who I was, and that showed:

13 (notice the awkward hand placement)

14

15

16

17 (still awkward, but loving it)

18

19

20

Okay, so I still had have some awkward moments... Because no matter how confident I become, I am still an awkward child at heart. So any time I see these awkward children, sitting alone in the library, pulling on their too-short pant legs, or laughing far too loudly at an unfunny joke, I always want to shake their hand and say, "You'll get there kid, but for now just enjoy being you." And then I'm sure they will wipe their hand off on their pants because mine are sweaty, cough nasally, and ask, "Who the heck are you?" And I'll say calmly, "Why, I'm your queen." And then he'll call the cops, and I'll be in the insane asylum for a few days, and then I will become the queen of the insane children.

Okay, well maybe not. But I hope that those awkward children will realize that it's okay to be awkward. It's a way to learn what works and what doesn't. And if you're an awkward child and you're reading this, you're awesome. Don't hide who you are. Some day soon you'll find pants that fit and a place where you fit too.

I know a picture tells a thousand words, but were/are you really an awkward child?

Yes, and I have about a hundred stories of my awkwardness that could prove it to you. But I will just tell you one that happened recently. The other day I helped a professor I TA for with a presentation she was going to present at a teacher's conference. I created the presentation, and then scrolled through the slides while she spoke. At the end of the conference, many professors came up to her to ask her questions. I didn't know if I was supposed to leave or stay. I slowly packed up my things, hoping that by the time I was done everyone would have left, and I could talk to my professor. Well, I didn't pack up slow enough, and the professors were still gabbing away. I thought it would be rude if I just left without speaking to my professor, so I turned around and pretended to forget to put something in my bag, pretended that I had a text, and almost pretended to tie my shoes when I realized I was wearing flats. After all this, they were still talking. So I decided to just stand beside my teacher, bag in hand, idly pretending to be interested in whatever it was they were talking about. Finally, after the group of chatty professors had wandered off, my professor turned to me and raised her arms to hug me. I forgot that I had my bag in my right hand, so I hugged her uncomfortably and managed to smack her hard on the behind with my bag at the same time. She's a small woman and it might have knocked her over if I hadn't been hugging her. That day, I walked away desperately trying to pretend like none of the awkwardness had happened, but also knowing that it was just how things were.

Wow, that was really awkward.

Yep. Just a day in the life. Anyway, now that you know about all these awkward children, I challenge you to go hug an awkward child today. Just make sure they don't have a bag in their hand because they might forget to put it down and might accidentally knock you over. 

Take a bow, rainbow. (Bow, bow? Get it?!)

On Sunday, Matthew and I had a pretty cool experience. Well, it may not be unique, but it was definitely beautiful. After dinner it started raining and storming quite hard. I was talking to my sister at the time, and I kept pausing to hear the low comforting rumble of thunder. It wasn't a particular angry storm, just a rainy one. After speaking with my sister, I asked Matt if he wanted to take a walk in the rain because we always take walks through the infrequent storms of Rexburg. He's from Oregon, and my family is from Washington, so we like rain. We don't even own umbrellas, but we love getting all wet and wandering around town when everyone else is inside. So we emerged from our underground cave and discovered that the sun was out, but it was still raining. I said that we might see a rainbow and Matthew agreed. We turned the corner of our alley and immediately, we saw this:

Then we ran to the big open field in our park and saw this:

When we got to the field, the rainbow looked like it had been painted in the sky with stunningly bright oil paints. Directly above it, there was a second rainbow that looked like a watercolor copy of the oil rainbow. It was still raining, but behind us the sun was doing this:

All around the block I heard screen doors slamming and shouts of, "Mom, you gotta come see this!" A little family to our right was spinning around and hugging each other while singing, "A rainbow, a rainbow!" Some joggers and bikers were going around the track seemingly unaware of the masterpiece above them. Matthew and I just stood their, staring upwards in awe. I asked Matt why there couldn't be more rainbows in life. This was the second time I have seen a rainbow since going to BYU-I, and the most magnificent rainbow I've ever seen in my life. Maybe if there were more of them, we wouldn't appreciate them as much. Maybe those bikers and joggers had seen a billion rainbows in their lifetime, so this one wasn't that interesting. I think, though, no matter how many rainbows I see, I will always have the same reaction as those little kids who were dancing and singing in the rain because they saw something beautiful. Of course, I missed a lot of the bright rainbow because I went to get my camera. By the time I came back, it had faded to watercolor and the second one disappeared. So I saturated a lot of these pictures so you can get an idea of how beautiful it was. Also, how can you not take pictures like this when you're in front of a big rainbow?

 Ah, rainbow puke. Isn't he charming? But, I can't make this post with this song:

I love Kermit. Mostly because, oddly enough, he reminds me of my mom. She does a really good Kermit impression. Seriously, ask her about it sometime. 

Huh, that was fairly random.

Thanks! I figured, I got to keep things spontaneous to avoid posting the same kinds of things and boring you. Now go look for some rainbows!

And now for something offensive...maybe. For freshmen anyway.

Today's post is probably going to offend some people. I'm not writing it to offend people. I'm writing it because it is my opinion (I know it's biased), and I've always wanted this to be a safe place where I could put down what I think. You may take it as offensive because I am blatantly telling you how to live your life. It's okay if you don't want to live the way I tell you to, just know I disagree with you. So, you've been warned. 

Alright, enough of that apologetically offensive crap. What's so offensive that you have to tell us?

Okay, no more apologies. If this makes you cry, I'm s--I mean too bad! So it all started when I was helping edit a grammar workbook for the English 106 class. This workbook has all of the basic tips for writing anything. It's amazing. I told my husband, "Matt, this needs to be handed to every freshmen in their 'BYU-I Survival Packet' as soon as they get here. There is not a student who won't have to write a paper in college, and half of the new students don't know how to write anything" (I have firsthand experience with this as a writing tutor). "Yeah," Matt said, his handsome face gilded with that dimpled, charming smile (What do you expect? I'm a creative writer, and he's my husband), "You know what else the freshmen need in that packet? The handbook on how not to be a NCMO freshmen." Now, for those readers out there who are not LDS, or in college, or didn't have a mom that went to college, NCMO (pronounced, as disgustingly as you can muster, nick-mow) stands for noncommittal make out. Anyway, as soon as Matthew said it, I knew exactly which freshmen he was talking about. They're the ones that arrive fresh off the Salt Lake express, dump their bags off in their apartment, scream, "I'm FREE!" and then pounce on the boy/girl nearest to them and start eating his/her face off. That's why Matthew and I stay in our cave (a basement apartment with window wells) on move in day. It's... not a pretty sight. 

Anyway,  I realized that he was absolutely right, and that someone needed to write this handbook. Than I thought, I'm a writer; I have many qualifications. I should write it! So here it is. I plan on selling it to the BYU-I honor department. I know they'll love it.

P.S. I've realized while writing this that it is geared towards girls. That is simply because I am a girl. I really don't understand boys (just because you're married, doesn't mean you understand boys). But my husband does. Maybe I'll get my husband to do a guest post for boys. But if I don't... it's because I'm lazy, and I don't want to.

How Not to Be a NCMO Freshmen: A Guide for the Young and Freedom Crazed

1. Have a little respect for yourself 

When you first get to college, there is suddenly this dating craze. You thought high school was bad. This is like a feeding frenzy during shark week. Some girls are so desperate to get dates, they'll go door to door of the boys' apartment complex handing out plates of brownies and asking if the guys want to come over. We called them brownie whores. Please realize that hanging out with guys, or having a date, or a boyfriend does not make you a better/funnier/prettier/nicer person. You can be the most amazing person in the world and still have never been on a date. In fact, the most amazing girls I know are usually single. I believe it's because they are so incredible that a guy who doesn't have truly good character is intimidated or would prefer to have a simpler, shallower girl. Realize that you are incredible the way you are. Heck, you're in college! Hundreds of years ago, women weren't considered smart enough to succeed academically, and yet here you are proving that you can be smart and successful. If you need a little boost in your self-esteem watch/read/listen to this and this. You have to make a decision that you are awesome, and that you are too awesome to sink to desperate levels for boys that don't even care.

2. Do not put on a mask for attention

Have you started to notice which kinds of girls get the most attention from boys? Notice how they spend several hours a day on their hair and make-up. Notice how they will turn into the most bubbly, happy, flirtatious animal that ever existed whenever a boy is around. Notice how they dedicate their whole life to dating or hanging out with guys. You've seen this before? Good. Now don't replicate it. I mean it. Sure, you might get some guys interested in you. Heck, you might get a hundred dates in one semester. Congratulations. But what did you sacrifice? When you are putting on the mask of perfectly flirtatious girl, you are covering up your own beautiful face. That mask attracts a certain type of boy. The kind that probably just wants to make out with you, or a NCMO boy. This boy is not interested in your family, or where you grew up, or what your favorite book is. He's interested in your body. He wants the  physical highlights of a relationship, and when you put on that mask, you are basically saying, "I have no real personality. I'm simply a body that will do anything you ask." Instead of putting on that mask, be 100% genuine. Guess what? This probably won't attract hoards of guys. Sorry. You might get one date during the whole semester. Yep, it's true. Or you might still get a hundred. Who knows? What really matters is that you are not fake. Fake is flimsy. Fake has no real friends. Fake is constantly hiding the real person behind the mask, and that creates an unstable person. Genuine people may not get hundreds of dates, but they do attract other genuine people. They attract the ones who are not looking for a NCMO. They attract the ones who want to talk about your family, who will watch a Barbie movie with you even if they hate it, who will tell you all of their fears and faults because you've been honest about yours. Genuine people make genuine relationships, which may or may not always work out, but they have more of a chance than NCMO relationships.

3. Find your passion and find your person

So, you've decided that you're going to have self respect and you're going to be genuine. That's a huge step forward. Really, well done. Now be prepared to be a little lonely. I'm sorry, but being a genuine person sometimes means you're going to be lonely. Not, "No one will even make eye contact with me because I don't have a boyfriend," lonely. Just, "Everyone else is on a date, and I'm home alone with a bowl of ice cream and the new Barbie movie," lonely. Which, can actually be pretty nice every once in a while if you're an introvert like me, or pure torture if you're an extrovert. So, in order to combat this lonely phase, you must find your passion. Maybe your passion is acting, or drawing, or World of Warcraft (not judging). Now use those university resources available to you and explore that passion. Take a class, or if you're not allowed to waste credits on your whims like here at the ol' Ricks, go to a club meeting, or some sort of activity that involves your passion. If you don't know what your passion is, explore your options. Go to an acting workshop on Tuesday (so you'll have something to look forward to on that disgusting day), a drawing class on Wednesday, and a WoW event on Thursday. The purpose of going to these things is NOT to meet guys. If you make that your focus, you're missing the point behind them. The point is to do something you love, just for the fun of it. The point is to discover new talents and get better at old ones. The point is to meet people that have similar interests, not so you can fall in love with them, but so you can make valuable friendships. This brings me to my next point which is to find your person. I don't mean your one and only true love. I mean the friend that is going to help you get through college. I call them your person because of this Grey's Anatomy quote:

Now I don't really like Grey's Anatomy, but my person, who was my roommate at the time, does, and so I feel that this quote is relevant. This person is the one that you will skip FHE with you because your FHE group is awkward and you have papers to write. This person is the one that you will go to the gym with at 11:00 pm and rant loudly about your other crazy roommates. This person is the one who will always listen to you, even if all you do is complain. Your person is your best friend and will always help you get through the lonely times. If you don't have a person near you, I'm sure you have one that you can call or skype. It could even be your mom (My mom is my life long best friend so I tell her everything anyway). Just find the person who edifies you, who makes you feel like you matter, and who is understanding even when you are being selfish. This person is not usually a NCMO person. They need to be genuine people. It is very difficult to keep a NCMO person as a friend because they will repeatedly choose boys over you (just another reason not to be a NCMO person). 

4. Wash, rinse, repeat

Once you've found your passion and your person, you probably won't have time to worry about boys because you'll have too many other wonderful things going on. In fact you may never worry about becoming a spinster ever again, right? Actually, no. In fact, you may go back to being a freedom crazy freshman after two weeks of exploring your passions and looking for your person. My advice is, just keep going. You might end up dating a jerk because you wanted a boyfriend so desperately (ahem...). But that doesn't mean you failed. In fact, sometimes the experience you gain from dating dumb guys helps you find much better guys (just don't marry those dumb guys). Keep improving, and keep believing in yourself. This whole college dating stuff will not be that important in a few years. If you feel lonely, heartbroken, or lost realize that being a freshmen is a transition stage, and all transitions are awkward and uncomfortable. Eventually though, you will find your place, your purpose, your passions, and your person. If you're feeling significantly discouraged (as I often did as a freshman and still do from time to time), read/watch/ listen to this. (It's just a Richard G. Scott day or something).

The End.

(ick. I can't believe I said NCMO that many times. I feel like I need to wash my mouth out.)

That was mildly offensive, but it also made me wonder if you had been a freedom crazed freshman.

Well, in my mind I was. I'm sure to everyone else I was absurdly mellow. I had a lot of people tell me that I didn't act like a freshmen, which made me think that I had missed some code for how freshmen are supposed to act. Not everyone gets all boy crazy in college, just a select very loud, very obnoxious few.

Well, now I'm offended.

Too bad. I already said I'm done apologizing.

Wait, didn't you get engaged as a freshman?

Uh... well. You see... that doesn't have anything to do...I was hoping you wouldn't bring that up... So, yes I met my husband at a blood drive during my second semester. It was the right time for both of us. But, in my defense,  my whole life I was convinced that I wouldn't get married until I was thirty. I was pretty sure that as you got older, boys became men, and those men became more mature, until they were mature enough to become husbands, but that didn't happen until the late twenties or so. Turns out you can be immature and still get married. So, that's what happened with my husband and me. Just two, very immature, very in love people, who decided to grow up together.

Aww, wow you actually did make me cry. Are you going to expound on how you met your husband?

Nah, everyone's heard that story already. Well, only if you really want me to. But that's for another time. Now go get some tissues or something, you're a mess.

P.S. Speaking of my husband, he has a blog. It's pretty cool. I love him. So, yeah, check it out.

Tuesdays: Not even worthy of a subtitle

So, Tuesdays?

Right, Tuesdays. Well, my husband hates them, and I have to agree with him. He has this "story" he tells about Tuesdays, and he always says I tell it wrong. But this is my blog now, and he has no choice but to suck it up and deal with my badly told story.

The Story of Tuesdays

To understand Tuesday, you must first understand the other days of the week. Saturday and Sunday are just awesome, obviously, because you have little to do and a lot of time to nap. Monday isn't as bad as it seems, because as much as it sucks to go back to work/school/indentured servitude, you've just had a glorious weekend that carries you through the day. Wednesday, as we all know, is hump day. This is the day that starts uphill and ends downhill, with you thinking, "Well, the house is a mess, I'm exhausted, and I have a twenty-five page paper due tomorrow, but I got through Wednesday!" Then there's Thursday, which is pretty much the day you spend thinking about how excited you are for Friday. Fridays are the crowning jewel of the week. Usually, at the beginning of a Friday, you are uber productive as you try to get everything done so your weekend will be kick butt. By the end of the day, everything's done and it's time to party! Or, if you're really crazy, even partay! 

So now that you know about the other days of the week, you can fully understand the horror that is Tuesday. It is pointless. It is a great gaping hole in the middle of your week. The only thing to look back on is Monday, and the only thing to look forward to is Wednesday. My personal hell would be Groundhog day, on a Tuesday. That is purgatory right there my friends (friends, comrades, subscribers, readers? What do I call you people?).

So, that's it? Tuesdays suck because they're pointless?

Yep, that's it.

No deeper meaning, no metaphor of something purely human to analyze?

Nope, just a simple story. Hey, wait a minute. Are you an English major? Is that why you're digging through a crappy story about Tuesdays looking for a point? Now go do something useful with yourself like reading these books.

P.S. Now that I've gone over the days of the week, I feel that since Tuesdays and Thursdays are sort of the bum days, I might as well post on those days. After all, I'm a bum too. So expect a post on Thursday. It may even be offensive.

The Birth of a Blog (wait, ew...)

So, what happened? Are you having a quarter life crisis or something?

 Actually, no. I just wanted to start a blog. Okay, you're right. I'm having a quarter life crisis. Although, I'm only twenty. That means I'm going to die when I'm eighty, right? That depresses me somehow. Okay, never mind. I'm not having a quarter life crisis. I'll wait until I'm twenty-five to do that. Ask me again in five years.

If you're not having a quarter life crisis, are you just feeling really creative and want to write DIY's for chevron couch cushions?

Ew, no--wait, is there a DIY for chevron couch cushions? Pin that for me will you? Okay, but seriously, if I ever do a DIY, then it's because I've sunk to a low place and run out of things to write. I'm creative, but I don't like to sell out my creative ideas so every Holly Housewife has one of them resting on her futon.

This isn't a DIY blog? Then what am I doing here.

I honestly can't tell you. But hopefully, you've come because you know me, know of me, or want to get to know me and my thoughts. 

So, what kind of a blog is this?

This is honestly just a place for me to let loose. I like to write, but I never seem to want to write about the same thing. One moment I've written a short story on war torn Norway, the next I'm writing about how to avoid awkward situations when your nose is runny. I have been told by many English professors that I need to pick a genre for my career and stick with it like it's the last Twinkie on earth. And I've decided that I don't like that. I want to write fiction, and I want to write non fiction. I want to write short stories, and I want to write novels. This doesn't fly with my academic community, so I've decided to take it to the social media world and see how it goes.

Will you be posting your short stories?

Eh, I haven't decided yet. Most of my work is very, um, depressing? And somewhat personal (Whoa, I sound like an emo poet). But if I find something I want to share, I most certainly will post it here.

What sort of posts can we expect?

Probably some biased opinions that offend people, a lot of posts about my eternal love for grammar, some posts about my job as a writing tutor, and probably some book reviews, which may also offend people.

When are you going to post something real instead of this weird introductory interrogation thing?

Um, how about Tuesday? Does Tuesday work for you? My husband has a thing about Tuesdays. Hey, that could be the subject for my next blog post!

You mean you don't even have a subject in mind for your next blog post?

Alright, enough of you and your sans serif font pride. I've got plenty of ideas! Now go do something useful with yourself like pinning chevron DIYs.