Shelli Armstrong's Blog, page 8
July 26, 2013
Arranged Marriage
There's a very formulaic approach to writing a romance novel. Either the main love story focuses on the fact that the two people hate each other in the beginning, only to find themselves falling hopelessly in love; or, the couple has a history where they were soulmates, and then something happens (like misinterpreting a sigh...yes, you read that right: a sigh) after which, they are brought together and realize they were meant for each other after all; OR there is the marriage of convenience. I don't know what it is, but I love marriages of convenience. Two strangers getting married for all sorts of stupid reasons, and then they fall in love with each other and live happily ever after. One of my very favorite movies is called Arranged, it happens to be about two women: An Orthodox Jew and a Muslim, who become friends as they teach together at a school, and as they are both in the middle of having their marriages arranged by their families. There are so many good things about the movie (like, teaching tolerance, and faith, and love, and self-discovery) and I really recommend it, but the thought of an arranged marriage in today's world... So I've been thinking about it a lot. How would I do in an arranged marriage? Can it really work? What if, hypothetically, my Uncle decided he had found the perfect man for me (i.e. the guy is also single...) and we got married for time and eternity, and started our lives together. Getting to know each other after we had aleady made the covenants to be together, knowing that this was no 30- to 90-day trial, money back guaranteed. For a moment, I think I could do it. If all I want is companionship, someone to bounce off ideas and make decisions as partners instead of a single, selfish person. A warm bed with another body in it. Someone who shares my beliefs. If that's all I want, can't that be discovered in a relationship with a person you don't really know? I think it could work. I think there is evidence that it has worked. But is that all I want? Could I give up the surely semi-false idealizations of romance, passion, and common interests? There's a chance those things would be discovered in an arranged marriage, but there's also a chance they would not be there. You might develop a friendship or a companionship, but what if it never transcends to the level that when you're reading a romance, you know it will ultimately reach. Life isn't a romance novel, so there's no guarantee. An arranged marriage would take a lot of work, especially at the first. All relationships take work, but this would be particularly hard. You would have to make sure that you did not come to resent the fact that you had given up your choice, your hope for something better to come along. You would have to work to discover the things that bound you together as a couple that would typically be found while dating. The thought that you had signed on to something so permanent without a way out would take some getting used to, and I don't know if you would get used to it. I've heard the counsel that there is no such thing as a "soul mate" and that any worthy man and any worthy woman that are dedicated to making a marriage work, will have a working marriage. And for the most part, I believe that. I think two truly committed people can stay together and have a relatively happy life together. But is relatively happy enough? Of course, two people who are madly in love don't always make it through. Passion fizzles, selfishness returns, love grows cold. So again: No guarantees. You can't know unless you try...
July 8, 2013
Empathizing with Jo March
There's a scene in Little Women (the movie -- because I never did finish reading the book) when Amy throws Jo's manuscript in the fire out of spite. Jo is, obviously, incredibly upset, swears that she hates her sister, and after a violent outburst, she falls into her mother's arms and mourns the loss of all her hard work.
I can empathize.
I've been writing for years. (Before I knew about Dropbox.com, and before I used Google Docs - now called Drive.) Here and there, and with not much success, but I like it, and I like the storeis, and even if no one ever read another thing that I created, it wouldn't matter. I like my characters and my banter, and sometimes I get verbiose and I don't care, because I like that too. But last year, when my computer was on its dying days I bought a new one and set the old one aside, and continued writing. I thought I had removed all the files I needed, or in my mind, I thought I had enough of my old computer left in order to retrieve the files I wanted.
But the other day, when I checked my external harddrive, I noticed that there was a whole folder, supposedly filled with several different stories, missing. I wasn't worried. I was certain they were on the other harddrive. But when I checked that, they were missing from there as well. Again, I did not panic. I have a thumb drive that most certainly had the files I wanted... until, no. They weren't there either.
I still didn't worry, because this has all happened to me before. My computer crashed once during finals week, and all I did was pull out the harddrive and insert it into a casing and plug it into a new computer and WALAH! I had access to everything I needed.
I spent an evening dismantling my whole computer (unnecessarily, because they make harddrives incredibly easy to remove) and putting it into a casing and optimistically I plugged it into my computer.
Nothing.
You would think that this would be the time for me to panic, but no. It wasn't a big deal because my dad would be in town in a month, and surely there could be something done in order to retrieve the files. (Why weren't they on the external harddrives like I though!?)
But last night, my dad pronounced the harddrive dead.
Honestly, it wasn't a surprise, but it was a sting -- no, a blow -- that I had been putting off now for months. I am devastated. How easily years of work and toil and creativity can be wiped away without so much as a by your leave! I can't remember the last time I curled into a ball on my mother's lap and cried, but that I did.
Sure, there are expensive processes whereby the data may be accessed. But, if it is $500-800, who can really afford that?
I know how Jo feels. Instead of a spiteful sister, I have a vindictive harddrive. Instead of a fire, I have malfunctioning technology. And instead of having sisters who can help recreate the entirety of the story with all the best parts, I have... my own memory of how things go and no way to actually recreate any of it.
I can empathize.
I've been writing for years. (Before I knew about Dropbox.com, and before I used Google Docs - now called Drive.) Here and there, and with not much success, but I like it, and I like the storeis, and even if no one ever read another thing that I created, it wouldn't matter. I like my characters and my banter, and sometimes I get verbiose and I don't care, because I like that too. But last year, when my computer was on its dying days I bought a new one and set the old one aside, and continued writing. I thought I had removed all the files I needed, or in my mind, I thought I had enough of my old computer left in order to retrieve the files I wanted.
But the other day, when I checked my external harddrive, I noticed that there was a whole folder, supposedly filled with several different stories, missing. I wasn't worried. I was certain they were on the other harddrive. But when I checked that, they were missing from there as well. Again, I did not panic. I have a thumb drive that most certainly had the files I wanted... until, no. They weren't there either.
I still didn't worry, because this has all happened to me before. My computer crashed once during finals week, and all I did was pull out the harddrive and insert it into a casing and plug it into a new computer and WALAH! I had access to everything I needed.
I spent an evening dismantling my whole computer (unnecessarily, because they make harddrives incredibly easy to remove) and putting it into a casing and optimistically I plugged it into my computer.
Nothing.
You would think that this would be the time for me to panic, but no. It wasn't a big deal because my dad would be in town in a month, and surely there could be something done in order to retrieve the files. (Why weren't they on the external harddrives like I though!?)
But last night, my dad pronounced the harddrive dead.
Honestly, it wasn't a surprise, but it was a sting -- no, a blow -- that I had been putting off now for months. I am devastated. How easily years of work and toil and creativity can be wiped away without so much as a by your leave! I can't remember the last time I curled into a ball on my mother's lap and cried, but that I did.
Sure, there are expensive processes whereby the data may be accessed. But, if it is $500-800, who can really afford that?
I know how Jo feels. Instead of a spiteful sister, I have a vindictive harddrive. Instead of a fire, I have malfunctioning technology. And instead of having sisters who can help recreate the entirety of the story with all the best parts, I have... my own memory of how things go and no way to actually recreate any of it.
May 24, 2013
The Danger of Online Dating
I don't even know how to begin telling this story…
The other night I was checking my messages on OKCupid, ignoring most of them, and thinking that I should just cancel the account, when I read a message from an attractive black guy*, "Do you want to go to a concert or musical with me?"
*This is important only because of my desire to have little black babies, which are so adorable. And the fact that I think a lot of black men are attractive, but have never dated any of them. That's all it said. I checked out his profile, and it seemed pretty innocent. He even answered questions that said that he didn't smoke or drink, and so, on an impulse, I said "Ok."
We arranged to just meet last night.
He picked the spot: Gateway food court, 7 pm. So I was there, reading my Kindle, and I see these hot black men walk in. Not him. And then this kid bobs into the cafeteria, and wanders around until he settles on Hot Dog on a Stick, where he bought himself some fries and a drink. Then he found me.
He has this nerdy vibe, but he's still cute, but… I don't know. He's socially awkward, a little. And I know almost immediately that I want out. But we sit and talk, and he tells me that the Mormon religion is a cult. And harasses me about the church's history with blacks, and all kinds of other things…
Then we switch topics and he asks me what I like to do for "fun", even though I know what he's really asking. Don't ask me how I knew, but I can be perceptive some times, and even though I skirted around what he wanted to know for a few minutes by saying that I liked to travel, and I wanted to get into hiking, etc. etc. He asked again what I did for "fun", and I called him out on it. "You mean, instead of having sex?" Yes. That's what he wants to know. I just roll my eyes, and we have to have a discussion about how it's my choice and not the church ordering me what to do… blah blah blah
He asked me what's the craziest thing I've ever done and I tell him, I don't do crazy things. I'm pretty mellow. Not a thrill-seeker. And he's like, "No, what's the craziest thing you've done?" And I'm like, "Do you mean, what's the most rebellious thing I've done?" And he says yes, that is what he means. I just shrug. "Well, let's do something crazy right now," he says. "Where are the bathrooms?"
Oh, hell.
I knew what was going to happen, and I couldn't figure out a way to politely excuse myself and be done with the whole thing. So I follow him (he bounces, and I am about 10 ft behind him) to a certain point and then I stop, because duh, I'm not following him to the bathrooms.
This is where it gets uncomfortable.
He asks me how long it has been since I've made out with someone. Bad question: it's been ages. I don't know how to answer, and he surmises the truth. He asks me, "So, no sex?"
"NO. No sex."
And then he kisses me.
Despite how weird the whole thing was, and me wanting to leave, I want this to work. I want it to be good. I mean, we're not quite near the bathrooms, but we're in an alcove that is secluded. And there's a wall. He's cute (except when he walks, and speaks, and eats…) and he's black!
It doesn't last long. His lips are too big, and I don't have experience with that. I feel like it's my first kiss all over again, I'm 16 and clueless. I don't really respond, because I don't… know. I don't want this, but I sort of… confusion.
I decide it is time to go, and he clearly is going to walk me to my car, which is fine, except I'm a dimwit, and can't find my car in the parking garage. So we're wandering around in the parking garage, me trying to keep conversation on benign topics, and with him asking, "So, no sex?" He walks behind me, with his arms wrapped around me, asking why I won't have sex with him…and I'm just like, "Is this why you are online? So you can just hook up with any girl that says yes?!" He denies it, but I know it's true. So I keep going, "You are just looking for some lonely, desperate girl to hook up with?" And he's like, "Are you desperate?" No. I say it emphatically. I tell him that it wouldn't happen tonight, anyway, even if I did have sex…we've literally only known each other for an hour.
Finally, I find my car. I'm relieved, but he helps himself into my passenger seat so that I can take him to his car. But first he wants to make out in the front seat. Honestly, I had no idea how to get out of the situation, and I didn't want to be rude (residual effect of having to defend the church and its members, trying to prove that we aren't intolerant, racist, prudes), but… he kisses me again, only this time, he's getting handsy, trying to feel me up. I grab his hand and push it away and he's still trying to cop a feel and look down my shirt. He's like, "Just show me a boob." !!!!!
And I was like, "NO!" He asks me why, and I'm like, "This is all you get to see. I wear clothes for a reason." He tries to cop a feel again, and I'm done. I want him out. So I put my car in gear, and start driving out of the parking lot.
We get to his car, and he tells me to call or text him… seriously?
I still feel dirty. Actually, it's been a few nights and I've had several discussions with friends. First, I am never doing something like this again, and I just might invest in a taser. Second, I can be blunt and forthright, and I just need to do that without worrying about hurting a dude's feelings when I want out. And lastly, who, WHO does this kind of crap actually work on? Not only was he not a gentleman but he wasn't complimentary, he didn't behave with anything close to what the realms of human decency would allow (Um, hi, don't bash my religion for 20 minutes and then expect to get in my pants) and common courtesy... (How many times do I have to say NO?) Anyway... it was a nightmare, and now I'm glad it's over so I can totally laugh about it.
The other night I was checking my messages on OKCupid, ignoring most of them, and thinking that I should just cancel the account, when I read a message from an attractive black guy*, "Do you want to go to a concert or musical with me?"
*This is important only because of my desire to have little black babies, which are so adorable. And the fact that I think a lot of black men are attractive, but have never dated any of them. That's all it said. I checked out his profile, and it seemed pretty innocent. He even answered questions that said that he didn't smoke or drink, and so, on an impulse, I said "Ok."
We arranged to just meet last night.
He picked the spot: Gateway food court, 7 pm. So I was there, reading my Kindle, and I see these hot black men walk in. Not him. And then this kid bobs into the cafeteria, and wanders around until he settles on Hot Dog on a Stick, where he bought himself some fries and a drink. Then he found me.
He has this nerdy vibe, but he's still cute, but… I don't know. He's socially awkward, a little. And I know almost immediately that I want out. But we sit and talk, and he tells me that the Mormon religion is a cult. And harasses me about the church's history with blacks, and all kinds of other things…
Then we switch topics and he asks me what I like to do for "fun", even though I know what he's really asking. Don't ask me how I knew, but I can be perceptive some times, and even though I skirted around what he wanted to know for a few minutes by saying that I liked to travel, and I wanted to get into hiking, etc. etc. He asked again what I did for "fun", and I called him out on it. "You mean, instead of having sex?" Yes. That's what he wants to know. I just roll my eyes, and we have to have a discussion about how it's my choice and not the church ordering me what to do… blah blah blah
He asked me what's the craziest thing I've ever done and I tell him, I don't do crazy things. I'm pretty mellow. Not a thrill-seeker. And he's like, "No, what's the craziest thing you've done?" And I'm like, "Do you mean, what's the most rebellious thing I've done?" And he says yes, that is what he means. I just shrug. "Well, let's do something crazy right now," he says. "Where are the bathrooms?"
Oh, hell.
I knew what was going to happen, and I couldn't figure out a way to politely excuse myself and be done with the whole thing. So I follow him (he bounces, and I am about 10 ft behind him) to a certain point and then I stop, because duh, I'm not following him to the bathrooms.
This is where it gets uncomfortable.
He asks me how long it has been since I've made out with someone. Bad question: it's been ages. I don't know how to answer, and he surmises the truth. He asks me, "So, no sex?"
"NO. No sex."
And then he kisses me.
Despite how weird the whole thing was, and me wanting to leave, I want this to work. I want it to be good. I mean, we're not quite near the bathrooms, but we're in an alcove that is secluded. And there's a wall. He's cute (except when he walks, and speaks, and eats…) and he's black!
It doesn't last long. His lips are too big, and I don't have experience with that. I feel like it's my first kiss all over again, I'm 16 and clueless. I don't really respond, because I don't… know. I don't want this, but I sort of… confusion.
I decide it is time to go, and he clearly is going to walk me to my car, which is fine, except I'm a dimwit, and can't find my car in the parking garage. So we're wandering around in the parking garage, me trying to keep conversation on benign topics, and with him asking, "So, no sex?" He walks behind me, with his arms wrapped around me, asking why I won't have sex with him…and I'm just like, "Is this why you are online? So you can just hook up with any girl that says yes?!" He denies it, but I know it's true. So I keep going, "You are just looking for some lonely, desperate girl to hook up with?" And he's like, "Are you desperate?" No. I say it emphatically. I tell him that it wouldn't happen tonight, anyway, even if I did have sex…we've literally only known each other for an hour.
Finally, I find my car. I'm relieved, but he helps himself into my passenger seat so that I can take him to his car. But first he wants to make out in the front seat. Honestly, I had no idea how to get out of the situation, and I didn't want to be rude (residual effect of having to defend the church and its members, trying to prove that we aren't intolerant, racist, prudes), but… he kisses me again, only this time, he's getting handsy, trying to feel me up. I grab his hand and push it away and he's still trying to cop a feel and look down my shirt. He's like, "Just show me a boob." !!!!!
And I was like, "NO!" He asks me why, and I'm like, "This is all you get to see. I wear clothes for a reason." He tries to cop a feel again, and I'm done. I want him out. So I put my car in gear, and start driving out of the parking lot.
We get to his car, and he tells me to call or text him… seriously?
I still feel dirty. Actually, it's been a few nights and I've had several discussions with friends. First, I am never doing something like this again, and I just might invest in a taser. Second, I can be blunt and forthright, and I just need to do that without worrying about hurting a dude's feelings when I want out. And lastly, who, WHO does this kind of crap actually work on? Not only was he not a gentleman but he wasn't complimentary, he didn't behave with anything close to what the realms of human decency would allow (Um, hi, don't bash my religion for 20 minutes and then expect to get in my pants) and common courtesy... (How many times do I have to say NO?) Anyway... it was a nightmare, and now I'm glad it's over so I can totally laugh about it.
May 22, 2013
I Get So Emotional, Baby
In case anyone is wondering, I LOVE living by myself.
It's probably the greatest decision ever; even if I will be broke and in the poor house by the end of my rental agreement.
Two things I've noticed, though: 1) There's nothing like unexpected guests to inspire a massive cleaning-craze. And then that craze fizzles and dies quickly. Oh well, my kitchen has now been properly clean. (Even though there's that one box still sitting there, filled with things that I probably don't need, but I don't want to throw away...)
And 2) I'm very emotional.
Meaning: I cry. A lot.
It's not the depression-cry, or the self-pity cry, or anything of that nature. It's just that I watch shows like The Office or New Girl or Parenthood and I bawl. The tears well up so easily these days, and within minutes of watching something, I've got salty tear tracks running down my cheeks, a headache, and a stuffy nose. But, it's the cleansing sort of cry, so despite the aforementioned side effects, I feel great.
So, I have a daily cry-fest, and I can feel myself getting more and more emotional throughout my day. Don't even get me started on Sunday. I feel like I'm back to being the highly emotional teenager that I was.
Why did this happen after moving in by myself? I can't say. But I also can't say that it's a bad thing. I feel like I'm getting in touch with my inner sympathetic, nice person, instead of my more cynical bitter sort of person. Over the years, I've transformed from that erratic, hormonal teenager that cried -- a lot -- to a more hardened sort... I'm not sure which is worse, but for now, I think the tears are here to stay. Just don't say anything too nice to me, or I'll be a weepy mess.
Oh goodness, and I definitely can't be watching things like this:
It's probably the greatest decision ever; even if I will be broke and in the poor house by the end of my rental agreement.
Two things I've noticed, though: 1) There's nothing like unexpected guests to inspire a massive cleaning-craze. And then that craze fizzles and dies quickly. Oh well, my kitchen has now been properly clean. (Even though there's that one box still sitting there, filled with things that I probably don't need, but I don't want to throw away...)
And 2) I'm very emotional.
Meaning: I cry. A lot.
It's not the depression-cry, or the self-pity cry, or anything of that nature. It's just that I watch shows like The Office or New Girl or Parenthood and I bawl. The tears well up so easily these days, and within minutes of watching something, I've got salty tear tracks running down my cheeks, a headache, and a stuffy nose. But, it's the cleansing sort of cry, so despite the aforementioned side effects, I feel great.
So, I have a daily cry-fest, and I can feel myself getting more and more emotional throughout my day. Don't even get me started on Sunday. I feel like I'm back to being the highly emotional teenager that I was.
Why did this happen after moving in by myself? I can't say. But I also can't say that it's a bad thing. I feel like I'm getting in touch with my inner sympathetic, nice person, instead of my more cynical bitter sort of person. Over the years, I've transformed from that erratic, hormonal teenager that cried -- a lot -- to a more hardened sort... I'm not sure which is worse, but for now, I think the tears are here to stay. Just don't say anything too nice to me, or I'll be a weepy mess.
Oh goodness, and I definitely can't be watching things like this:
May 14, 2013
Overhaul
A few people have commented on my absence of posts. But most people haven't. It's not that I haven't been blogging because I've lost readership, or anything like that... I've just been really busy overhauling my life.
In the past two months I've gotten a new job, moved to a new (bigger) city, and had my car totaled. So basically, I've changed just about everything I could change, and shed the life of the 18-year old girl that moved to Utah almost nine years ago.
NEW JOB
Everything changed when the offer of a new job in Salt Lake City. I applied only because I had a friend who was hired and casually mentioned to his wife that I should apply for a job at the same company. I put it off for over a month, but in a moment of determination to get out of my life's rut, I sent in my resume. Everything moved pretty fast from there. I interviewed, was offered the job, and gave my two weeks to the company I had worked at for three years.
There were lots of tears involved.
I loved working at KMA, and for Kevin, and I really liked what I was doing. Kevin told the guys upstairs that I was an "overachiever" because I was never content just being a secretary. Mostly everyone outside of work that I wasn't an overachiever at all. I felt like I had gone as far as I could go, and still, it was not an easy decision. When I sat down in front of Kevin to tell him I had been offered a new job, I bawled. When I got a text a few days later from him to counter the offer, I cried harder. I talked to my friends. I cried to my mom. My bishop.
And in the end, I made the decision to take the job and try a new adventure outside of Provo.
I'm still wondering what the hell I've done. (Sorry, Mom.) My new job is busy -- I've no time to play on Facebook or plan vacations I can't afford, or do any of the goofing off I did at KMA. And it's quiet. There aren't the shenanigans that would go on at KMA. And it's strict. This is a STRICT 8-5 gig; and sometimes it's 7-8. I can't just take off whenever I want, and long lunches are considered "vacation" if you are billing your hours honestly. I feel trapped and there's nothing creative about my job. My new company is very processed based. There's been a lot to learn.
My only comfort is that in the intro packet HR sent me, was the little advice that, "If you hate your job, just wait two years and it will be worth it."
NEW APARTMENT
I tried the commuting thing for a month and that's how I got my car totaled (see next section). It has been a painful process trying to readjust my sleeping schedule to something a little less co-ed and a little more mature adult. I hate it. And I'm tired all the time. I feel like a drug addict sitting at my desk, nodding off. Besides, the whole point of taking a new job, was so that I could get out of Provo and try my luck in Salt Lake City.
I looked for a new place everywhere... And didn't find anything that I really felt like I could live in. Until I walked into a little unit that just felt right. It felt like home. It was the only place that I could really see myself living in...and it was a little pricier than I wanted. So I tried to give it up, and kept coming back to this place.
I love it.
I love living by myself. I love the location. I have high hopes for the ward... I love that I have generous people in my life that have made it an easy transition by loaning me a queen sized bed, and helping me furnish the place with enough things to make it into a home. I. Love. It. If it turns out that I really can't afford to live like this, I will be devastated if I have to go back to a bunch of roommates.
Please bless that this place does not financially screw me over.
NEW CAR
For the record, I do not recommend getting into an accident. Especially on the freeway during morning rush hour traffic. And especially when it is your fourth day of work.
Don't for a second think that I was at fault. The accident could have been so much worse than it was, and I think it was because I was driving: with both hands on the wheel, no radio, my phone set down on the passenger seat, out of reach; in the slow lane (for goodness sake!) that made it so that when the guy decided to merge into my car and send me spinning, I ended up in one of the safest places I could have been, and sustained only body damage to the car. (And a touch of whiplash for my troubles.)
Whenever you see insurance company commercials, they always talk about how good they are about taking care of you, as their client. They never mention how they treat the person on the other end of the deal. In case you were wondering: crappy. They don't care that it was their policy holder's fault that you are now car-less, injured, and taking "vacation" at work in order to have your car valued at less than nothing, when before you were hit it was running just fine (never mind the fact that you might have just dropped $400 on new belts for your engine...). It's all very ridiculous. And I probably would recommend getting a lawyer, just because the insurance companies would probably take you more seriously.
That being said... I probably got more money for my car from the insurance than I would have been able to sell it for. And I got to keep the car (never mind that that scenario brings a whole lot more complications, since Louise was registered in Ohio). And I bought a car from my friends (same friends who got me this job) at a supreme discount with unbeatable payment plan.
So that's my life as of late. Next thing to do: Go through the temple. And now that I have A/C in my car, it's totally doable.
In the past two months I've gotten a new job, moved to a new (bigger) city, and had my car totaled. So basically, I've changed just about everything I could change, and shed the life of the 18-year old girl that moved to Utah almost nine years ago.
NEW JOB
Everything changed when the offer of a new job in Salt Lake City. I applied only because I had a friend who was hired and casually mentioned to his wife that I should apply for a job at the same company. I put it off for over a month, but in a moment of determination to get out of my life's rut, I sent in my resume. Everything moved pretty fast from there. I interviewed, was offered the job, and gave my two weeks to the company I had worked at for three years.
There were lots of tears involved.
I loved working at KMA, and for Kevin, and I really liked what I was doing. Kevin told the guys upstairs that I was an "overachiever" because I was never content just being a secretary. Mostly everyone outside of work that I wasn't an overachiever at all. I felt like I had gone as far as I could go, and still, it was not an easy decision. When I sat down in front of Kevin to tell him I had been offered a new job, I bawled. When I got a text a few days later from him to counter the offer, I cried harder. I talked to my friends. I cried to my mom. My bishop.
And in the end, I made the decision to take the job and try a new adventure outside of Provo.
I'm still wondering what the hell I've done. (Sorry, Mom.) My new job is busy -- I've no time to play on Facebook or plan vacations I can't afford, or do any of the goofing off I did at KMA. And it's quiet. There aren't the shenanigans that would go on at KMA. And it's strict. This is a STRICT 8-5 gig; and sometimes it's 7-8. I can't just take off whenever I want, and long lunches are considered "vacation" if you are billing your hours honestly. I feel trapped and there's nothing creative about my job. My new company is very processed based. There's been a lot to learn.
My only comfort is that in the intro packet HR sent me, was the little advice that, "If you hate your job, just wait two years and it will be worth it."
NEW APARTMENT
I tried the commuting thing for a month and that's how I got my car totaled (see next section). It has been a painful process trying to readjust my sleeping schedule to something a little less co-ed and a little more mature adult. I hate it. And I'm tired all the time. I feel like a drug addict sitting at my desk, nodding off. Besides, the whole point of taking a new job, was so that I could get out of Provo and try my luck in Salt Lake City.
I looked for a new place everywhere... And didn't find anything that I really felt like I could live in. Until I walked into a little unit that just felt right. It felt like home. It was the only place that I could really see myself living in...and it was a little pricier than I wanted. So I tried to give it up, and kept coming back to this place.
I love it.
I love living by myself. I love the location. I have high hopes for the ward... I love that I have generous people in my life that have made it an easy transition by loaning me a queen sized bed, and helping me furnish the place with enough things to make it into a home. I. Love. It. If it turns out that I really can't afford to live like this, I will be devastated if I have to go back to a bunch of roommates.
Please bless that this place does not financially screw me over.
NEW CAR
For the record, I do not recommend getting into an accident. Especially on the freeway during morning rush hour traffic. And especially when it is your fourth day of work.
Don't for a second think that I was at fault. The accident could have been so much worse than it was, and I think it was because I was driving: with both hands on the wheel, no radio, my phone set down on the passenger seat, out of reach; in the slow lane (for goodness sake!) that made it so that when the guy decided to merge into my car and send me spinning, I ended up in one of the safest places I could have been, and sustained only body damage to the car. (And a touch of whiplash for my troubles.)
Whenever you see insurance company commercials, they always talk about how good they are about taking care of you, as their client. They never mention how they treat the person on the other end of the deal. In case you were wondering: crappy. They don't care that it was their policy holder's fault that you are now car-less, injured, and taking "vacation" at work in order to have your car valued at less than nothing, when before you were hit it was running just fine (never mind the fact that you might have just dropped $400 on new belts for your engine...). It's all very ridiculous. And I probably would recommend getting a lawyer, just because the insurance companies would probably take you more seriously.
That being said... I probably got more money for my car from the insurance than I would have been able to sell it for. And I got to keep the car (never mind that that scenario brings a whole lot more complications, since Louise was registered in Ohio). And I bought a car from my friends (same friends who got me this job) at a supreme discount with unbeatable payment plan.
So that's my life as of late. Next thing to do: Go through the temple. And now that I have A/C in my car, it's totally doable.
May 13, 2013
Everything
Line of the Night: "Not enough for me? You are everything."--Jim to Pam
Watching The Office isn't supposed to make me cry.
Watching The Office isn't supposed to make me cry.
March 17, 2013
Adulthood
The other day I looked in the mirror and told myself to "Stop being timid. Stop feeling unworthy. Stop thinking that somehow you aren't meant to be where you are, with responsibilities, or that you are meant to be below others all the time. It's time to act like the grown-up you are (you are almost 30) and the one you always thought you would be."
Basically, I was telling myself to grow up, and quit feeling like a child. I just can't seem to shake the feeling. Why does adulthood have to be so defined (in my head) with being married, having kids, or owning a house? Or your own car, for that matter. Why is it that whenever I look at my life, I still feel as though I'm playacting and waiting for life to begin? Because I can't check those lists of things off, I somehow am inferior to my peers who can?
I feel so naive, even though I'm not. I feel second- or third-class compared to others.
I find myself shying away from people, as if they are better than me. And I hate that feeling. I'm not ashamed of who I am. And I've accomplished things, have adult responsibilities. And for heaven's sake: I'm 27. Nearly 30.
I can't be anymore adult than I am.
But I still feel like the kid in this picture most days. And I don't know how to shake it.
Basically, I was telling myself to grow up, and quit feeling like a child. I just can't seem to shake the feeling. Why does adulthood have to be so defined (in my head) with being married, having kids, or owning a house? Or your own car, for that matter. Why is it that whenever I look at my life, I still feel as though I'm playacting and waiting for life to begin? Because I can't check those lists of things off, I somehow am inferior to my peers who can?
I feel so naive, even though I'm not. I feel second- or third-class compared to others.
I find myself shying away from people, as if they are better than me. And I hate that feeling. I'm not ashamed of who I am. And I've accomplished things, have adult responsibilities. And for heaven's sake: I'm 27. Nearly 30.
I can't be anymore adult than I am.
But I still feel like the kid in this picture most days. And I don't know how to shake it.
February 13, 2013
Darcy
While I was in Kuna last, my aunt mentioned The Lizzie Bennett Diaries. How had I never heard of these before?! I don't know...but I spent the weekend rectifying the situation. (If I haven't convinced you to look at them yet, do so now. Start with episode one, here.)
Only moments ago I was talking to a friend about how I would be terrible at speed dating. Our ward held such an activity on Monday, and I couldn't go because I was at work late. (If you doubt that I was going to go, I'll have you know that I dressed for the occasion, even if I hadn't completely decided...) Anyway, I told her that I am terrible at things like speed dating because I am absolutely wretched at small talk.
I come off as a... b^+<''.
Anyway, as I was thinking about that, I realized: I am Darcy. As in, Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice. He comes off as arrogant and proud, even though his friends are deeply devoted to him. He's awkward in large social settings, and says thinks bluntly that come off as horrible... As I said.
I was pretty please with my introspection; not moments later, I stumble upon this:
I didn't even look at the bottom to see who was who, or where the flow chart was leading, and what do you know? I ended up at Darcy, twice. There was one question where I could have gone either way, and I still ended up being Darcy.
Validated.
Only moments ago I was talking to a friend about how I would be terrible at speed dating. Our ward held such an activity on Monday, and I couldn't go because I was at work late. (If you doubt that I was going to go, I'll have you know that I dressed for the occasion, even if I hadn't completely decided...) Anyway, I told her that I am terrible at things like speed dating because I am absolutely wretched at small talk.
I come off as a... b^+<''.
Anyway, as I was thinking about that, I realized: I am Darcy. As in, Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice. He comes off as arrogant and proud, even though his friends are deeply devoted to him. He's awkward in large social settings, and says thinks bluntly that come off as horrible... As I said.
I was pretty please with my introspection; not moments later, I stumble upon this:
I didn't even look at the bottom to see who was who, or where the flow chart was leading, and what do you know? I ended up at Darcy, twice. There was one question where I could have gone either way, and I still ended up being Darcy.
Validated.
Trust Issues
I've seen this around the internet several times. For me, it's not true. There's nothing more disappointing then thinking I'm getting an oatmeal raisin cookie that ends up beings a chocolate oatmeal cookie. Oatmeal + raisins is good. If you want a chocolate chip cookie, don't add the oatmeal.
I can't be the only one alone in this.
Then again, it wouldn't surprise me.
If forced to choose, oatmeal raisin cookies would be my favorite. Oatmeal chocolate chip... lame. Very, very lame.
February 8, 2013
Writing Realistic Love Stories
I don't think it is a secret that I write and read romances. There's something about them that I just can't seem to give up, and I've really only tried (to give them up) halfheartedly anyway. Despite having a great love for these stories, I will be the first to admit that they are completely unrealistic, almost always cheesy, and just a little bit vomit-inducing.
I was talking to a friend and he asked, "Why can't a realistic love story be written?"
My immediate answer: It can't. It just can't. Not in a romance novel. Because there is always going to be an element of cheese. Because do guys really say those things that makes your heart melt and kicks up a flock of butterflies in your stomach?
Kisses this awesome have to be scripted and acted out. I'm beginning to think that they don't really happen in real life.
Besides, if realistic love stories were written, you'd have to include all the mundane things. The annoying habits that you have to put up with...
I don't know. The closest thing I've read to a "real" love story is in Diana Gabaldon's Outlander series. And even though the love story seems to ring true (if just a little puffed up) the rest of the story isn't, what with the witches and time travel and magic stones. Movies that portray "real" love stories end up like Blue Valentine, which is just depressing.
When I wrote my book, I tried to make it a realistic love story. It just got boring. So I threw in some things that I hope happen to absolutely nobody in real life.
I guess there's a reason we call it fiction; and a reason why the genre is so popular. We have to get our fixes of this overly-passionate, unrealistic love somewhere, because we aren't going to get it in our real lives.
I was talking to a friend and he asked, "Why can't a realistic love story be written?"
My immediate answer: It can't. It just can't. Not in a romance novel. Because there is always going to be an element of cheese. Because do guys really say those things that makes your heart melt and kicks up a flock of butterflies in your stomach?
Kisses this awesome have to be scripted and acted out. I'm beginning to think that they don't really happen in real life.
Besides, if realistic love stories were written, you'd have to include all the mundane things. The annoying habits that you have to put up with...
I don't know. The closest thing I've read to a "real" love story is in Diana Gabaldon's Outlander series. And even though the love story seems to ring true (if just a little puffed up) the rest of the story isn't, what with the witches and time travel and magic stones. Movies that portray "real" love stories end up like Blue Valentine, which is just depressing.
When I wrote my book, I tried to make it a realistic love story. It just got boring. So I threw in some things that I hope happen to absolutely nobody in real life.
I guess there's a reason we call it fiction; and a reason why the genre is so popular. We have to get our fixes of this overly-passionate, unrealistic love somewhere, because we aren't going to get it in our real lives.
