When you get back, there will still be soap suds in the sink. The oven will still smell like taquitos. The light bulbs will still be warm.

But I won't be here.

My perfume might still linger in the air. I might even leave a glass of water sitting on a desktop.

Goodbye bowl. Goodbye brush. Goodbye bowl, full of mush.

On Children

I don't really spend that much time with Children who are older than one. As in, Children who can talk.

The other night I went to spend a couple hours with Celisse while she was babysitting Olivia. I'd heard a lot about Olivia. She is a very precocious three year old. It's like she is a very small, normal person, but she is really three. My favorite Olivia-ism is that she always says. "Well you can if you want to, but if you don't want to that's okay too." Also she calls her mom "Mother" which is a very foreign thing.

But the next day, I had a weirder encounter. Kylie told me that a kid might come over and knock on the door, but that I didn't have to answer it. And I didn't think this would actually happen.

Daisy started barking, and was clearly looking at someone who would be at the front door, so I looked out the window, and down on the porch was a young boy who was knocking softly on the door.
Then he was banging on the door. I couldn't ignore him, because there were lights obviously on, and my car was in the driveway.
I cracked open the door.
"Hello?" I said, into the one inch of open space, where he was looking at me, shyly.
"Hi."
"They're not here," I said. Because I didn't know what else to say.
"That's okay, they told me they'd be gone."
And I waited for him to state his name and purpose.
.
..
...
"They told me I could come in and pet the dog."
I thought about saying sorry, and please come back another time, but it struck me how lonely he must be to come over and have his excuse to come in be that he wanted to pet the dog.
"Okay." I said. And I opened the door and let him in, and I just sat on the steps and wondered what to do. I thought to say, Sorry I'm not wearing real pants. Or, Would you like a cookie, or something. But some people wear leggings as pants, and he shouldn't know the difference. Also offering a cookie would extend this awkward visit.
"How old are you," he asks, trying not to look at me, but also trying to see what I looked like.
"Twenty-two." I said.
"Oh you are old. You are thirteen years older than me." He immediately calculated.
"How old are you?" I asked, not immediately calculating.
"Nine."
Somehow I didn't believe him.
"My birthday was September 11, 2001." He said.
"What?"
"September 11, 2001. The day the twin towers fell."
"Oh my gosh."
"Yeah," he said. Still trying not to look at me. "They told me you'd be a kid."
"Oh really?"
"Yeah. I guess they were wrong." He said. I didn't try to explain to him that kids can't drive to other people's houses and stay the night by themselves. He thought I'd be a kid who would want to play guns or Xbox or something.
I silently sat there, watching him pet the dog, who was enjoying the attention.
"Okay, I guess I should go now." He said, and walked out the door.
"It was nice to meet you," I said, and locked the door behind him, and then ran up to the window to watch where he would go.

He looked around the neighborhood for a heavy moment. Just spacing out. And then he picked up some snow and turned it into a snowball. I felt weird to keep watching him, and went to finish lunch.

I thought about how many hundreds or thousands of people out there are really lonely. Maybe there is even another person in this neighborhood who is lonely.

But it's kind of reassuring to me that kids can still do weird stuff, like we did in the 90's. That he could just walk up to the house and start knocking.

If you are going through hell, keep going. - Winston Churchill

I walk much. I walk in the cold. I walk the dog. This is not the exercise I am used to. This is not squats, push-ups, crunches, lifting, or even really strenuous cardio.

Today I admit that being a college student is killing me right now. Or rather, being a college student who works as well. Everyday with the Spanish, and the traveling.

I am a full-time traveler. I have to plan my whole day and carry along other outfits, pack food, stash second pairs of shoes, make sure I am in the right car for the day. Catch the buses. Try not to over or under-eat. Try to drink enough water but also worry about when I will be able/allowed to go to the bathroom. Wear leggings under my pants. Live at different houses, try to remember where I am going to shower, and how to set my alarm clock.

I get just plain mad at people who don't have to do this like me.
But then I remember I signed up for it, and that I get bored when I am not doing it. But I can't wait for Spring Break.

And I wish I could get their TV to work, here, so I could turn off my brain for a minute.

I am learning

That if my brain is tired enough, it will just start to spit the Spanish out.
My life is a weird thing of going to Spanish everyday, and right now I am thinking of it like a spaceship and I show up there, and we all get in the spaceship and speak another language the whole time, and I like everyone there. I like that there is a med student who looks at me like I am a million bucks every morning, even when I don't wear make-up, or I am wearing weird clothes and tennis shoes. I like that I have girlfriends, and that I can rely on them to be my spanish speaking companions. I like that I can eat my PB&J and they don't care. I like that my teacher barely has any accent, so I can understand her Spanish in increasing amounts. I like that it is only an hour.

I travel approximately 8 hours a week because of the Spanish schedule. And every night I do the Spanish homework. I am a slave to spanish.
I am knowing too much about Hugo Chavez than I ever wanted to.

I am delirious and my knee hurts from crashing in front of the hipsters, still.
And my hair got shorter. And I am living with a dog who is really nice. She doesn't poop on the floor, and she doesn't even bark at me.

Live from New York, it's Saturday NIGHT!!

I've been watching old episodes of SNL from 1975, their first season. It started when I was looking at Chevy Chase's filmography, because I am so repulsed by him in Community. Who knew what it was going to become. The tradition.

And Chevy Chase used to be so handsome.

But as I continued to watch (I've been watching old and new episodes for about...hmmm...four hours) I started to Google each of the old actors, wondering what they were up to these days, and why the propulsion of SNL had not kept them classical. A lot of the actors and singers have died. John Belushi, Gilda Radner, Andy Kaufman, Madeleine Kahn, George Carlin. Just some of them that I Googled out of two episodes.

Watching the old tapes was like...historical. It made my mortality so real to me, all of the sudden. If those guys could die in their thirties and forties and early fifties, then it can happen to me. It could happen to Andy Samberg. It could happen to Will Ferrel, or Bill Hader, or God forbid...Kristen Wiig.

And if I don't die young from ovarian cancer like Radner and Kahn, then I will grow old enough for my looks to fade like Chevy's.

Such is life. So it goes.

I don't know if I'm even a borderline feminist anymore.

I realized this when I was listening to "Sexy Back" by Justin Timberlake and he says, "Let me make up for the things you lack." And I was like, Hmmm. If I was still a feminist, this sentence would bother me for reasons X, Y, and Z. (I mean it is a pretty loaded sentence, Freud would say.) But it didn't bother me. It just made me want to dance.

I still have two more days left of weekend, which is amazing. Thanks, Presidents.

Last night I laughed harder than I can remember happening for a long, long time.

Life goes on.

"Who won Best-in-Show?"
"I don't know."
"Wait a minute, you've been watching people walk their dogs for four hours? You guys are like the sophisticated rednecks watching NASCAR."
-Philip talking to my mom, with love


I think a lot of people were sad it was Valentine's day today. I don't really mind, but when I got on my bus, I could tell something was off. I said hello to my favorite bus driver who LOVES to talk so much that it usually holds up the bus, and he didn't say anything in return.

But then on the way home, I was finished with This American Life's episode/podcast called "Tough Room" and the last part was about people who cry on airplanes by accident, watching Freaky Friday or AMEX commercials. And I thought, that's funny. Must be something about the altitude. But I remembered that sometimes I do this suddenly on public transportation. Always on airplanes, because I'm leaving the midwest, but sometimes by accident I do it on the bus. And then this blind guy got on the bus, and the driver was giving him verbal instructions on where there was an open spot. And I just burst into tears, and had to hold back my sobs. And like the blind guy cared. He didn't. He put on his headphones, and I was compelled not to take my eyes off of him. When the bus would slow down, he would take off the headphones to hear if the woman who lives in the speakers would say it was his stop. And I wanted to spend the whole day with him, but I couldn't.

A lot of old single guys who came into the bank were sad too. Really nice guys with tired faces, that I had never before noticed them not being married. But you know what? They're going to keep going. It's not that big of a deal in the end.

Even Richie was married once, and he screwed that up.
And then he was hitting on 17 year old girls, and that's just not cool. Not for a strange milkman. He is one person I don't mind not seeing at 5am. But I do miss grumpy old guy.

Now I'm just rambling about old guys. Crap.

I guess they're the ones I worry about. They don't know how to take care of themselves if they don't got no woman anymore.

"Time you enjoy wasting, was not wasted."
John Lennon

I think about this during the weekend. Not that I feel I waste a lot of time, but when I am not being extremely productive, I am at least recovering from the week.

Weekend thoughts.

I like to wake up at the Edwards'. I like to wake up anywhere I do not have to say "Good morning." I hate to say good morning. It's like you don't know where you stand with a person, that between sleeping a few hours, you can't just start off a new conversation where you left it.

I watched Cat People which was more progressive than Dracula or Bride of Frankenstein. They mention divorce. They show a woman's shoulders and bare-back. There is a man-scream. I watched this movie instead of writing my paper which is due on Tuesday. I have an outline, and a thesis, and I owe Dr. Smith four more pages than that.
I don't know why I took another Gender class. It is more fun to write about Gender when you are in an ordinary English class. You sound smarter.
But now I read these articles, and I can't take it as seriously as I did when I was 19. I got more fired up about injustices when I was 19. But now it's a stretch. I will do my best.

AND. The weather was beautiful today. I wish I could put a lock on it, and have it be this way every day of the year. Snow on the mountains, slightly warm, but you know it will be cold at night. T-shirts and clean cars. Clean air.

I have become an OPTIMISTIC person.

E. E. Cummings

Judy is in the hospital still, but doing a lot better. I wish I was there now, but I still have 37 days. (I know you think I count a lot, but I have a Google counter app on my home page, so I can't help it. I like to know when exactly I am done waiting for things. Especially Jillian Michaels workouts, I watch the minutes on the DVD player so I know exactly how much longer I have of getting my butt kicked)

So this is the Valentine I made. This is the only time of year you will see me get Romantic, I hope.

And here is a toast to new beginnings. I'm going to record everything G. says from here on out, so that Tanya and I can prove we are not crazy. And I applied for 3 jobs last night, instead of drinking away my troubles. Because otherwise, G. wins. And I will not be taken down so easily.

I promised to my wife and children: I'd never touch another drink as long as I live. But even then, it sounds so soothing, to mix a gin and sink into oblivion... (Coldwar Kids)


I watched The Bride of Frankenstein last night, and they finished making the girl monster, and she hated the other monster. And I was like, seriously girl? He's kind of cute.

I wish they would do a remake and follow the book more closely.

But after that I watched the ABBA movie with my dad and Philip, for some reason, and it made me love to live here. I have the good life.

My grandma is in the hospital right now. She's not doing so hot, so if you could shoot a prayer up for her, that would be awesome. Her name is Judy, and she is the brightest sunshine in my life. (And I don't take superlatives lightly.)

It's a hard time for us to not be there right now. But our family... we always try to find the humor. And humor can make anything bearable for a few minutes.

My aunt is sending us text messages of the things Judy is saying on drugs.

"I'm in so much pain but I don't know who is responsible. Probably Karen Ritchie. Shouldn't say that too loud."

My dad says Karen Ritchie is someone who went to their Lutheran church in the 70's. Nobody has seen her in 25 years.

A nice thing is that God lets us take things one day at a time. I think Abe Lincoln said that, but I can't be sure.

"Mom thinks she is at church and wants to leave. Wonders if there are underpants on the floor."

a lovely time

Today I had, what resembled a vacation, for 6 or more hours. After classes this morning I went with Celisse for a sushi lunch with a Groupon. So cheap! And then watched TV all day long, pausing only to get snacks from the store.

What a good break from the stress. I've left my phone at Celisse's house, which I might not have back for several days, depending on how lazy I am tomorrow night. So I am really going 1960's for a little while.

But a bad idea was putting a bunch of corn meal in my hair. This website said it was a good idea for dry shampoo, but I think every dry shampoo was invented for blonds, because now my hair is white.

Good night, Nurse.

Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down

I have these momements, at the bank, when I look around and say, "How did I get here?" Like the Talking Heads' song. Except I don't say, "This is not my beautiful wife." But it feels very surreal. The same thing used to happen to me at Starbucks, when I would think I was playing store, like when you are a little kid.

But more, at the bank, I walk past the water cooler, or stare at the commerce of the town I am working in, and I think, how did I get here? How did I come to be working in a place with a water cooler?

And when I sit at my desk and try to think what my job would want me to be doing, it is surreal that this is the thing I do to make money show up in my bank account every two weeks. I sure do work, but then there are times that are slow, and I just stare off into space because it makes me feel a lot less guilty than if I were to surf the internet.

And with each disdainful look she gives me, I know my days are numbered. She has no reason to fire me, but I am getting few reasons to stay.

Frankenstein was good. Read it.

I love February. I mean love it. It's the shortest month, it doesn't get sentimental with you, or drag things out. It lives fully and when it's done, it's done.

I think of February as more sunlight, but still wintry. I love the red and pink colors in every store. I love Valentine's day, simply because it is a day invented to give cards, and candy. (I love stationary. I love sending and getting mail. And I love candy) I love the colors. I like that it is a reminder to tell your honey that you love them before the earth warms up. It's Celisse's birthday, too. I never got depressed about Valentine's day when I haven't been having a boyfriend. It's just fun.

Today was just about the coldest day I've ever been in Utah. And I forgot to wear long-johns. But the cold is still beating the hot any day.

I don't know why I keep using the present progressive, but it probably has something to do with Spanish. And that I feel free to do anything I want right now.

And what I'm wanting....is the progressive.