It started the night before. I received a voice mail from Moriah who wanted to go last-minute Christmas shopping. I still had a few loose ends on my "To-Get" list, so I readily agreed.
She picked me up at noon on Wednesday, the 22nd in her green Toyota, front-wheel drive, informing me that she first needed to get her check from my Uncle, whom she and I worked for in the Great Annual Spud Harvest. They had sent the check to her right after the harvest was over, but for some reason or other, it didn't reach her.
Not knowing the way to my Uncle's house, she asked, "Is it here?"
"Nah," I replied, "Keep going. Ok, here. Turn here. Or not. Just keep going to the Powell's (other Powell's) they have a round-about. Wait, not here. Don't pull in here! Oh, ok, pull in here, I guess. I'd stop now. And now we're stuck."
The house whose driveway she'd chosen for a three-point turn was a rental and totally unoccupied at the moment. This meant the driveway hadn't been cleared all winter. And we were stuck in the middle.
Without hesitation, I hopped out of the passenger seat and pushing from the front, managed to get the green little car (that didn't have snow tires, I might add, but "all-season tires," according to Moriah) dislodged the first time and hopped back into shotgun. Moriah tried some fancy maneuvers to swivel around and get us back onto the highway, but only succeeded in re-lodging her car perpendicular to and part way off the snow-covered pavement.
Again, and just as quickly as the first time, I'm out of the car and pushing from the front, Moriah gunning it in reverse. This time we only succeeded in creating a nice, icy well for each front tire.
The day previous, my sister had been in a similar predicament when she was pulling out of our driveway and turned too quickly over the snowbank and was caught in the middle. We and one other sister couldn't get the thing out until two gentlemen whom I've never seen in my life and who I don't expect to see again, showed up from the highway and were able to dislodge the car by putting it into neutral and "rocking" it back and forth until we got enough momentum to heave the car over the bank.
Applying similar tactics, I instruct Moriah to put the car into neutral and we commence heaving the thing forward and back. We continued this exercise for at least half an hour, kicking our ill-clad feet into the frozen slush to give us more tract, without triumph: every time we came close to freedom, the car would peek at the edge of the ditches that harbored the wheels, only to slip back in. I then had a thought. While Moriah tried to call her Dad and other friends of the masculine persuasion, I ran to the nearby willow tree, whose limbs were until then a cursing, having dripped recent rainwater and causing slushy, half-frozen snow over the past several weeks and the partly the cause of our situation, that was now a blessing. Breaking off the winter-hardened volunteer shoots, I then wedged the snapped limbs behind the front tires. After an age of relentless rocking to and fro, Moriah and I finally succeeded in freeing the car from its captor.
At last, the car was swiveled around and pointing toward the highway. We were feeling pretty proud of our less-than car savvy, unprepared-for-emergency-situations, non-masculine, impractically-shoed selves. "not too bad for two girls," Moriah said.
Making sure the coast was clear, we tried to escape the dreadful driveway in one grandiose finale. But alas, we instead heard the now familiar sound of tires spinning. With a groan and a roll of the eyes, we once again climbed out and assessed our situation.
It was then that two gentlemen, whom neither of us recognized, pulled near us on the highway. One was white-haired and fairly robust. The other I guessed to be in his teens and either the son or grandson of the former and equally thickly built. We briefly explained the situation to them, with embarrassed laughter after every sentence. I remember the elder calling to the younger, instructing him on where to push the car, calling him by name, but I can't remember it. Their strategy was one neither Moriah and I considered. They pushed the car backwards, farther into the evil abandoned driveway--which made me more than nervous--with the plan to get more momentum with which to clear the final snowbank. This time, with the older man driving and three of us pushing, he cleared the driveway in one fell swoop and parked it on the opposite side of the road.
A few moments later, Moriah with check in hand and I with fresh money from the Credit Union, we went to Wells Fargo's (Moriah's bank's) drive-through. The process itself was bad enough. This was the first time Moriah had done this without her mother and I was no help, having never deposited a check via window either. Fumbling with nerves, she made a several mistakes on the deposit and the capsule had to be sent back a few times. Embarrassed at the end of it all, Moriah tells me, "I just want to get out of here. At least they'll never see me again." She turns the key to start the engine and make our getaway.
It doesn't start.
After several more tries, the result is the same: her car won't start. Without thinking, I'm out of the car--again--telling her to stick it in neutral. We have the car rolled out of the way of other bank clients, but Moriah's wheels weren't wanting to turn (she comments that her breaks were also feeling weird, like they were sticking), and we wheeled it right into a curb. Just as I am asking myself what we could possibly do, a man in a Taylor's suburban and another, heavier man in a small Sudan arrive simultaneously. The Taylor's man says to us in only a slightly condescending tone, something along the lines of: "So you've pushed it to the middle of the street. What were you planning on next?" Exhausted, we quickly explain that her car won't start. They pop the hood, speculating about a drained battery, incorrect wiring, problematic router, but all are puzzled: when the key's turned, the ignition won't even make the characteristic clicking, chugging noise.
Luckily, Moriah's dad had just recently bought her a tow cable and the Taylor suburban man, who told us we was a mechanic for Taylor Chevrolet, with help from the heavy Sudan driver, towed us to a parking space.
As for starting the car, all signs pointed to the battery: dim headlights, radio giving out, and (for anyone who's a car person and knows the history and makeup of Toyota's) the breaks acting funny. However, all three cars were lacking jumper cables and still perplexed, the two drivers left to whatever pressing matters they had.
Fishing for ideas, I suggest we at least push the car into the space ahead and at least out of others' way. Moriah pushed while I steered with great difficulty. We were going very slowly at first, poor Moriah probably being exhausted from the day's previous events. Suddenly, I notice that we were moving with much more ease, I look behind me to give Moriah friendly encouragement and see another anonymous man pushing beside her. He looked to be in his twenties--probably a college student--with scruffy facial hair, wearing a faded yellow hoodie underneath a light jacket. Later Moriah told me that while she was pushing, he just showed up from nowhere and started pushing without a word, only nodding when she thanked him. As soon as we were safely in the parking space, he left as quickly as he'd come.
My mother did show up, but she was just as perplexed as we were as to the problem. Her car did have cables, but she was unwilling to attempt it, afraid that she might make the problem worse. She left to an urgent errand, promising to come back soon.
Tired and a little put out from the days' events so far, Moriah calls her father and later her roadside assistance, Tri-State Mechanical. Turns out, all the car needed was a jump.
Later, we found ourselves sitting in the garage's lobby, waiting for that darn Toyota's battery to charge. We were half laughing about it (me), and half shaken and tired (Moriah).
We were discussing the bizarreness of our shopping trip so far--and updating a few guy friends about the current status of our adventure via text, we being two teenagers--when an older, severely wrinkly man walks up to us. Neither of us could understand most of what he said. All I could gather was that he was wondering what our car was in for. I think he was trying to tell us what was wrong with his car. We gathered he was trying to crack jokes, so we laughed politely in pauses, since we had no idea what he was saying. He was probably harmless, but Moriah and I agreed that it would have been extremely creepy if either one of us had been alone.
This story does end happy: The stupid car's battery did charge, we went to Moriah's Piano lesson, both of us completed our shopping, and feeling like we'd earned it, Moriah treated us to dinner at Sammy's Sweets and a Cocoa Bean hot chocolate for desert. I told her that we would look back every Christmas for years to come, no matter how far away we live form each other, and remember this Christmas shopping trip. I told Moriah, my increasingly best-est buddy, that this would always be my favorite Christmas story.
Throughout that day and the one previous, I personally have been helped by seven complete strangers. Part of me was grateful I lived in Rexburg, although one friend suggested we "wouldn't have gotten as much attention in January." But upon Reflection, I remembering several times, while either rocking that blasted Toyota back and forth or wondering was to do when the car wouldn't start, I remember praying that we would find a way, that things would work. All I can say is that I'm grateful that the Lord works through others and that prayers are answered and that I've been raised that I can call on that Power when needed. Truly, this will be one of my most memorable Christmases.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Saturday, December 11, 2010
The Narcissistist
Well, I IS my blog, after all!
Micha's Yuletide Yearnings
• Practice Mute (for violin)
• Hats
• “Killers” Music
“Muse” Music
“Death Cab For Cutie” Music
Vienna Teng Music
"Iron & Wine" Music
• Cargo pants
• Yarn—lots of colors!
• iPod/MP3 with more memory
• Despicable Me
• Digital Camera (Nikon)
• Sketching Pencils (2B, 4B, 6B, H)
• Fun, Dangly Earings
• Colorful, long necklaces
• Super Smash Bros (For the Wii)
• Other Wii Games
• Diana Wynne Jones books
• C.S. Lewis books (Paralandra Series, Screwtape Letters)
• Photo Album (6”x 4”)
• Futon
• Keys
Micha's Yuletide Yearnings
• Practice Mute (for violin)
• Hats
• “Killers” Music
“Muse” Music
“Death Cab For Cutie” Music
Vienna Teng Music
"Iron & Wine" Music
• Cargo pants
• Yarn—lots of colors!
• iPod/MP3 with more memory
• Despicable Me
• Digital Camera (Nikon)
• Sketching Pencils (2B, 4B, 6B, H)
• Fun, Dangly Earings
• Colorful, long necklaces
• Super Smash Bros (For the Wii)
• Other Wii Games
• Diana Wynne Jones books
• C.S. Lewis books (Paralandra Series, Screwtape Letters)
• Photo Album (6”x 4”)
• Futon
• Keys
Gift-Wrapped
I am one of those people who like to make presents look all flawless and picturesque. But making something seem so lovely and delicate only makes that moment of tearing to shreds a person's careful presentation all the more delicious. Indeed, I feel that the precise art of wrapping is to pent up energy daily as a person eyes a package until that fateful morn.
I don't approve of curly ribbons, but I do insist upon neatly folded wrapping around cubic shapes. Boxes, in my opinion, are to complete the purpose and pleasure of surprise that comes with gift-giving. If something is some strange and very decisive shape, there's only a short list of things is could be. But a box, now, anything could be contained therein. It also alludes to the classic image of children gathered around a tree and shaking packages with their names on them, trying to guess what the other got them and the donor giggling with glee because the recipient's guesses aren't even close! Of course, Boxes allow for that slight disappointment when the reality of what the box really contains shatters all the dreams of life-long wishes that do the polka in our sub-consciouses, being instead something useful and not at all fun. But I relish the unknown moment before destroying a present's perfectly crafted exterior to discover the magic inside.
Some people look down upon gift-giving as evidence that a once purely religious and holy celebration has become secular and shallow, but I disagree, at least on my own part. I see gift-giving as an expression of one's love. I don't totally hold with the need to get someone something expensive or overly fancy, but something personal, that creates a deeper understanding of you with that person is wholly Christian, I think.
I don't approve of curly ribbons, but I do insist upon neatly folded wrapping around cubic shapes. Boxes, in my opinion, are to complete the purpose and pleasure of surprise that comes with gift-giving. If something is some strange and very decisive shape, there's only a short list of things is could be. But a box, now, anything could be contained therein. It also alludes to the classic image of children gathered around a tree and shaking packages with their names on them, trying to guess what the other got them and the donor giggling with glee because the recipient's guesses aren't even close! Of course, Boxes allow for that slight disappointment when the reality of what the box really contains shatters all the dreams of life-long wishes that do the polka in our sub-consciouses, being instead something useful and not at all fun. But I relish the unknown moment before destroying a present's perfectly crafted exterior to discover the magic inside.
Some people look down upon gift-giving as evidence that a once purely religious and holy celebration has become secular and shallow, but I disagree, at least on my own part. I see gift-giving as an expression of one's love. I don't totally hold with the need to get someone something expensive or overly fancy, but something personal, that creates a deeper understanding of you with that person is wholly Christian, I think.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Reprise
Oh, for the love!
This blog is supposed to be my lay-out of all the strange and peculiar ideas that strike me, not venting of angst!
So I'll so make a reprise of my imaginative self, bringing us to this post:
New things I've learned lately:
How to get to the Orthodontist from the high school.
Flattery can be lethal when combined with Vanity
Why Patience is a virtue
How to crochet a white star on a purple buret.
The friendships you have to work hardest to gain and maintain can be the most rewarding.
Loving again after a great loss can be a lot harder than in the movies.
Conflict is rarely cut-n-dry; there are always two sides or more.
Culture is more than language or beliefs or anything else we try to tack it down to.
The huge difference between baking powder and baking soda.
How to make Restaurant and Business Logo's.
How to run up and down a violin like it's a zipper.
That I actually like some Mexican food
Futons are one of the most comfortable places to sleep. Ever.
That I like myself.
This blog is supposed to be my lay-out of all the strange and peculiar ideas that strike me, not venting of angst!
So I'll so make a reprise of my imaginative self, bringing us to this post:
New things I've learned lately:
How to get to the Orthodontist from the high school.
Flattery can be lethal when combined with Vanity
Why Patience is a virtue
How to crochet a white star on a purple buret.
The friendships you have to work hardest to gain and maintain can be the most rewarding.
Loving again after a great loss can be a lot harder than in the movies.
Conflict is rarely cut-n-dry; there are always two sides or more.
Culture is more than language or beliefs or anything else we try to tack it down to.
The huge difference between baking powder and baking soda.
How to make Restaurant and Business Logo's.
How to run up and down a violin like it's a zipper.
That I actually like some Mexican food
Futons are one of the most comfortable places to sleep. Ever.
That I like myself.
Impending, Fantastical Doom
Gosh, College and life away from Rexburg is looming over me. All I can say is I will feel totally exposed and unprepared. I've only just lately started to realize how sheltered I really am. I do want to get away from America, if but for a short time. I want to know the world is round, you know? I think of all that my sisters have done and are doing, and I shrink at the thought; I feel so small compared to them, so silly and frivolous, so unaware of things as they really are. I know I'll be lost for a month at least. It's taken me a few months to even get Rexburg's layout down--how am I supposed to navigate anywhere else? Ah, graduation scares me, and I never thought it would. I've always been a person to tackle ideas and challenges and new things with relish and gusto, but I'm afraid of life being too big to tackle and that I'll fall short--or worse, that I'll tackle it with all fervor and discover I've taken too much on myself, like my sisters before me. I have this horrible adoration of the future. I'm just so excited to start life at MY command, being able to go as fast as I want to, in a sense, without fear of looking over my shoulder at nay-sayers and copycats. But then they don't ever leave, do they? The only thing that'll change is whether or not I'm looking over my shoulder to see them. Doesn't the thought ever seize you: the hope of becoming the greatest of all, compounded by the fear of total failure, which twists into some dreaded hybrid, like crying for joy or laughing so hard you wet yourself? Ever feel like that?
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Stone and a Hard Place
You know that terrible moment in mental/emotional/physical/psychological development when you're stuck between Needs, Wants, Values, Traditions, Growing Independence, and Passions? Yeah, I just hit it going 96 mph on cruse control.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
New Pet Peeve
When Mormons say things at funerals like,
I knew...
I loved...
They were...
Hey! Where is your faith?! They still exist. They are somewhere else, but still living, if not where we can see them. You STILL know and love them, I should hope, and they are the same person as when in this mortal life. They aren't lost or gone... just visibly absent. I mean, really!
I knew...
I loved...
They were...
Hey! Where is your faith?! They still exist. They are somewhere else, but still living, if not where we can see them. You STILL know and love them, I should hope, and they are the same person as when in this mortal life. They aren't lost or gone... just visibly absent. I mean, really!
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
With Answers I Don't Like
You know, I'm finally realizing why my sister hates Drama People so much.
This is a repeat of one of my last questions:
WHY DO WE DO THIS!?
We tear each other down, bite off heads, talk over, trod under our feet, and then what?
We ignore.
Why hurt people, why make them feel small? Is it to feel better about ourselves? But we don't, that's just it. Never by cruel words can we improve ourselves.
If you can't tell, I'm in one of my rare angry moods. Today I was hurt, and no one even knew it. Even some one who considers herself one of my best friends ignored me, assuming I was in one of my bubbly moods as usual, and talked about her small universe. If anyone had simply looked at my face or really listened to my voice, they would have known. I'm feeling kicked to the curb. I feel shrunk. I feel clumsy and immature and stupid around my friends.
No, I'm not angry. I'm sad. I've been wounded and forgotten. I feel like I've been transported back to the days when my sisters would all walk in an impenetrable line in front of me, whispering and laughing and berating anything I tried to put into the conversation. I feel nine years old again and every time I try to put in my opinion, it's immediately shot down. I feel stupid, and did I mention small?
I also feel like I can't make a difference. I've been trying, honest, so why do I still stand alone? I talk in a crowded room and no one turns their head. I have an idea and no one listens. People tune me out; I'm totally aware of this and have evidence. Sometimes I just wish people would do for me what I so often do for them. No thank you needed, but I would like a return of love, capiche?
This is a repeat of one of my last questions:
WHY DO WE DO THIS!?
We tear each other down, bite off heads, talk over, trod under our feet, and then what?
We ignore.
Why hurt people, why make them feel small? Is it to feel better about ourselves? But we don't, that's just it. Never by cruel words can we improve ourselves.
If you can't tell, I'm in one of my rare angry moods. Today I was hurt, and no one even knew it. Even some one who considers herself one of my best friends ignored me, assuming I was in one of my bubbly moods as usual, and talked about her small universe. If anyone had simply looked at my face or really listened to my voice, they would have known. I'm feeling kicked to the curb. I feel shrunk. I feel clumsy and immature and stupid around my friends.
No, I'm not angry. I'm sad. I've been wounded and forgotten. I feel like I've been transported back to the days when my sisters would all walk in an impenetrable line in front of me, whispering and laughing and berating anything I tried to put into the conversation. I feel nine years old again and every time I try to put in my opinion, it's immediately shot down. I feel stupid, and did I mention small?
I also feel like I can't make a difference. I've been trying, honest, so why do I still stand alone? I talk in a crowded room and no one turns their head. I have an idea and no one listens. People tune me out; I'm totally aware of this and have evidence. Sometimes I just wish people would do for me what I so often do for them. No thank you needed, but I would like a return of love, capiche?
Saturday, August 14, 2010
No Answers
Questions I asked myself on a four-hour ride home from Utah.
Am I wrong? Should I lower my standards and tolerate the world? Am I just idealistic? Does maturity have to mean tolerating images and thoughts that I was taught since I was born were wrong and/or sacred and not to be displayed? Should I tell this person whom I love how awkward and severely uncomfortable I felt? I know he knows better, and I know he's such an incredibly awesome, wonderful person, and so shouldn't I show how much I respect him by being my characteristic blunt and tell him my thoughts? Shouldn't I do my part and help him they best way I know how and explain my feelings that, even though everyone has these desires and in of themselves, they are beautiful, but they should not be entertained till the appropriate time? Am I "preachy"? Am I self-righteous? Would he be offended? Would he speak to me again? Would he still value my opinion like he has so many times before? Would he listen? What would God have me do?
Why do we hurt people we love? If we love them, why berate and make them feel small? If we see that teasing and reawakening old, painful memories hurts a person, and that person has shown us time and time again that they DON'T think it's funny, why would we do it again? And again? And again? Why do we justify cruel teasing by saying, "They laughed, to," or "See, she's smiling,"? How on earth can "You're a good sport," and "Oh, I love you," be classified as an apology?!
What's wrong with love? Why can't people just be able to tell each other how much they care for them? And why don't we show it? What is it we're afraid of? After all, isn't loving more important than being loved? Why is emotion so hard to express? What is about crying in front of others that makes us cringe? Why do we hide emotions under casual, indifferent, shrugging cloaks?
Why is forgiving oneself so much more difficult than forgiving others? Why are we all so proud? Why does it plague our souls wherever we go and whatever we do, beyond any reasoning or logic? Why is it that even when we KNOW we are so pitiful, sinning, crude creatures, we're still capable of holding our heads above the clouds?
Why?!
Am I wrong? Should I lower my standards and tolerate the world? Am I just idealistic? Does maturity have to mean tolerating images and thoughts that I was taught since I was born were wrong and/or sacred and not to be displayed? Should I tell this person whom I love how awkward and severely uncomfortable I felt? I know he knows better, and I know he's such an incredibly awesome, wonderful person, and so shouldn't I show how much I respect him by being my characteristic blunt and tell him my thoughts? Shouldn't I do my part and help him they best way I know how and explain my feelings that, even though everyone has these desires and in of themselves, they are beautiful, but they should not be entertained till the appropriate time? Am I "preachy"? Am I self-righteous? Would he be offended? Would he speak to me again? Would he still value my opinion like he has so many times before? Would he listen? What would God have me do?
Why do we hurt people we love? If we love them, why berate and make them feel small? If we see that teasing and reawakening old, painful memories hurts a person, and that person has shown us time and time again that they DON'T think it's funny, why would we do it again? And again? And again? Why do we justify cruel teasing by saying, "They laughed, to," or "See, she's smiling,"? How on earth can "You're a good sport," and "Oh, I love you," be classified as an apology?!
What's wrong with love? Why can't people just be able to tell each other how much they care for them? And why don't we show it? What is it we're afraid of? After all, isn't loving more important than being loved? Why is emotion so hard to express? What is about crying in front of others that makes us cringe? Why do we hide emotions under casual, indifferent, shrugging cloaks?
Why is forgiving oneself so much more difficult than forgiving others? Why are we all so proud? Why does it plague our souls wherever we go and whatever we do, beyond any reasoning or logic? Why is it that even when we KNOW we are so pitiful, sinning, crude creatures, we're still capable of holding our heads above the clouds?
Why?!
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Two Lumps
Let's try several spoonfuls...
Joys
From least to greatest
"You Are My Sunshine"
The Song. I love it.
Asking
I want to make others think
Accomplishing a goal
Having the Will to do it, more like
Clouds
It's a long story. Many stories, actually.
Overcoming Weakness
Not on my own, actually. I'd like it more, only it's so painful, but the rewrad is worth it.
Listening
It's awfully loud, if you pay attention.
Running
Towards, not away.
Climbing
More for being closer to Up than escaping Down.
Thinking
I've got a whole world up there.
Exploring
It's like thinking, only with your arms and legs.
Smiling
Despite everything else.
Laughing
Especially when I make others do it.
Knowing
And then you only know it MORE.
Learning
The cross between Thinking and Exploring.
Hugs
More for me than most people, I think.
Letting Someone Know/Knowing Myself
And it isn't done enough, gosh darn it!
Joys
From least to greatest
"You Are My Sunshine"
The Song. I love it.
Asking
I want to make others think
Accomplishing a goal
Having the Will to do it, more like
Clouds
It's a long story. Many stories, actually.
Overcoming Weakness
Not on my own, actually. I'd like it more, only it's so painful, but the rewrad is worth it.
Listening
It's awfully loud, if you pay attention.
Running
Towards, not away.
Climbing
More for being closer to Up than escaping Down.
Thinking
I've got a whole world up there.
Exploring
It's like thinking, only with your arms and legs.
Smiling
Despite everything else.
Laughing
Especially when I make others do it.
Knowing
And then you only know it MORE.
Learning
The cross between Thinking and Exploring.
Hugs
More for me than most people, I think.
Letting Someone Know/Knowing Myself
And it isn't done enough, gosh darn it!
Rx
You must take your medicine before the sugar for it to be effective. So, here is my "medicine."
Fears:
From least to worst
Declining health
my body holding me back from things that I love
Being Lost-Physically
I do NOT like not knowing where I am
Loneliness
I think not loving is worse than not being loved, but only just.
Not Making A Difference
At the end of my life, I want to know some one is better off because of me.
Missed Opportunities
I have the capability, but will I be too afraid or lazy to grasp life when it's in reach?
Losing my Friends
My friends have gotten me through so much. I couldn't bare betraying their trust.
Rape
I'd prefer the slowest, most painful death.
Forgetting
If I forget the people I love or the lessons I've learned, I'd lose time and most of my identity.
Fears:
From least to worst
Declining health
my body holding me back from things that I love
Being Lost-Physically
I do NOT like not knowing where I am
Loneliness
I think not loving is worse than not being loved, but only just.
Not Making A Difference
At the end of my life, I want to know some one is better off because of me.
Missed Opportunities
I have the capability, but will I be too afraid or lazy to grasp life when it's in reach?
Losing my Friends
My friends have gotten me through so much. I couldn't bare betraying their trust.
Rape
I'd prefer the slowest, most painful death.
Forgetting
If I forget the people I love or the lessons I've learned, I'd lose time and most of my identity.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Bitter-Sweet, Hold the Sweet.
This is for my sake, so if you don't want to read a teenage girl reminiscing, don't.
His name was Lucky, and he was one of my very best friends.
I believe he was sent to teach me about love and what it means to serve someone: How giving love means more than receiving it. He trusted me, and I did all in my power to not betray that trust. He was my window in the mind and heart of the Savior and his feelings toward us.
When I finally gave consent to have him put down (after he almost completely lost control of his body), I felt like part of my soul went with him and I no longer felt whole. When I thought of who I was, what made me Me, right after my belief in God, I thought of my cat Lucky. I could give a whole history of our relationship, from my third Christmas on, but that's not necessary. He lived 12.5 years. We buried him between two trees between the pond and garden. He was mine and I loved him. Goodbye, Baby. You taught me so much.
His name was Lucky, and he was one of my very best friends.
I believe he was sent to teach me about love and what it means to serve someone: How giving love means more than receiving it. He trusted me, and I did all in my power to not betray that trust. He was my window in the mind and heart of the Savior and his feelings toward us.
When I finally gave consent to have him put down (after he almost completely lost control of his body), I felt like part of my soul went with him and I no longer felt whole. When I thought of who I was, what made me Me, right after my belief in God, I thought of my cat Lucky. I could give a whole history of our relationship, from my third Christmas on, but that's not necessary. He lived 12.5 years. We buried him between two trees between the pond and garden. He was mine and I loved him. Goodbye, Baby. You taught me so much.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
A Little Bit Louder, A Little Bit Worse
Lately I've been revisiting my childhood, and I finally realized something: My childhood was GREAT!! So, if any of you were in suspense about why I am the way I am, here are a few references that, combined, are the essence of all that is Green Gremlin.
#1: Curse of Monkey Island:
No. 3 in the Monkey Island saga, it's by far the best in animation (till no. 5 came out on the Wii), Storyline, casting, depiction of Elaine, and humor. Brief synopsis:
Guybrush Threepwood one day washed ashore Malay Island, where he fell in love with its Governor, The beautiful red head Elaine Marley. She was also the Apple of the eye of the evil Zombie Pirate, LeChuck. For a recap, you can just watch the beginning of CMI:
#2: Peter Pan
There will be no web clip of this, seeing as I've never found a depiction of Peter, or any of the characters, that I'm satisfied with (Though, I'd have to say that Disney's was the best).
When I was little, and even when I wasn't so little, me and my sister would climb into our older sister's bed, where she'd read us a chapter out of Peter Pan, the ORIGINAL novel by J.M. Barrie, every night. So far no one has ever captured Peter the way I see him; one of the reasons for that being is that no movie has ever even tried to depict Neverland as the Island of Children's imagination, where all their games take place. They never mention that everyone has their own different island. They show the ties between Mr. Darling and Captain Hook (Both are seeming antagonistic characters, traditionally played by the same man) Captain Hook wants to destroy Peter, the symbol of all things "gay and innocent and heartless," that ties over to Mr. Darling and his roughness towards Nanna and the children's gaiety. Proving my point:
Captain J.A.S. Hook: "Smee, no child loves me!"
Mr. Darling: "Oh, sure, cuddle Nanna. No one ever cuddles me!"
But worst of all: most movies of Peter Pan depict two very, VERY wrong things:
1) Peter is too old. my point from the book:
Wendy was "every inch a woman, though there weren't very many inches" (she's short)
And peter is her same size, meaning he can't be very tall either. They are both YOUNG. Peter Pan is supposed to still have all his baby teeth.
2) The Peter-Wendy Romance. Ugh. They are only eight-years-old. Tops! Maybe there are crushes, but never to the extreme that people try to pin them down with and hardly at all in the book.
Peter Pan represents all that is Gay and Innocent and Heartless. "When a child dies, a little piece of [Peter] goes with them so they will not be afraid.
Peter Pan is that magical place under bed covers and behind bedroom doors where you went as a child, that place "Second star to the right and straight on till morning." You remember. Every child has one.
#3: Harry Potter, Heartbeat, Ella Enchanted, Phantom Toll Booth, and all Diana Wynne Jones
Books are things very dear to my heart. There are many, and I can't name them all, that really shaped my as a child--I can honestly say I wouldn't be the same without them. So be careful, all you young-adult writers out there. You are shaping children in small, secret ways that they themselves do not at first notice.
#4: Clouds, trees, birds, and those little squirmy things in water
I believe it is important for every child to have adventures. Times when the house is just out of sight and parents long gone, when you are on Safari, and discoveries for the benefit of the little world that is your mind are found. When I was still living in California (3-7 years old), I used to imagine running away and living like Robin Hood--specifically like Robin Hood. Not because I was angry at my parents and that I did something wrong and didn't want to face the consequences; I just wanted to be on my own, just because I thought I could. I never did run away, of course. I knew I'd get lost, starve, be kidnapped, but that never deterred me from dreaming about it.
#5: Disney/Pixar
This is one I don't feel I have to explain, since this is part of everyone's life, but I wanted to pay homage to it all the same. I can't help but feel that if it weren't for Disney, all the classic Fairy tales would be lost in our culture forever. Disney, I think, was necessary for us when we were children. Kids need to believe in Right and Wrong, and that Right always comes out on top. They need to believe in doing the right thing because it's right. They need to believe that things turn out all right in the end, no matter how bad things get. Also, I think the world needs places like Disneyland/world/etc. Clean, safe, happy places where we can revisit our childhoods shamelessly.
#6: Cats, the musical
It's very easy to believe that I watched this show at least three times a day. And I did. It's also easy to believe that after watching it, I would turn it off and roam the house, pretending to be a cat. Even as a child, Memory made me cry. That show spurred my imagination and I fantasized nonstop about not only cats, but mystical places of mystery and stealth.
I had a great childhood!
#1: Curse of Monkey Island:
No. 3 in the Monkey Island saga, it's by far the best in animation (till no. 5 came out on the Wii), Storyline, casting, depiction of Elaine, and humor. Brief synopsis:
Guybrush Threepwood one day washed ashore Malay Island, where he fell in love with its Governor, The beautiful red head Elaine Marley. She was also the Apple of the eye of the evil Zombie Pirate, LeChuck. For a recap, you can just watch the beginning of CMI:
#2: Peter Pan
There will be no web clip of this, seeing as I've never found a depiction of Peter, or any of the characters, that I'm satisfied with (Though, I'd have to say that Disney's was the best).
When I was little, and even when I wasn't so little, me and my sister would climb into our older sister's bed, where she'd read us a chapter out of Peter Pan, the ORIGINAL novel by J.M. Barrie, every night. So far no one has ever captured Peter the way I see him; one of the reasons for that being is that no movie has ever even tried to depict Neverland as the Island of Children's imagination, where all their games take place. They never mention that everyone has their own different island. They show the ties between Mr. Darling and Captain Hook (Both are seeming antagonistic characters, traditionally played by the same man) Captain Hook wants to destroy Peter, the symbol of all things "gay and innocent and heartless," that ties over to Mr. Darling and his roughness towards Nanna and the children's gaiety. Proving my point:
Captain J.A.S. Hook: "Smee, no child loves me!"
Mr. Darling: "Oh, sure, cuddle Nanna. No one ever cuddles me!"
But worst of all: most movies of Peter Pan depict two very, VERY wrong things:
1) Peter is too old. my point from the book:
Wendy was "every inch a woman, though there weren't very many inches" (she's short)
And peter is her same size, meaning he can't be very tall either. They are both YOUNG. Peter Pan is supposed to still have all his baby teeth.
2) The Peter-Wendy Romance. Ugh. They are only eight-years-old. Tops! Maybe there are crushes, but never to the extreme that people try to pin them down with and hardly at all in the book.
Peter Pan represents all that is Gay and Innocent and Heartless. "When a child dies, a little piece of [Peter] goes with them so they will not be afraid.
Peter Pan is that magical place under bed covers and behind bedroom doors where you went as a child, that place "Second star to the right and straight on till morning." You remember. Every child has one.
#3: Harry Potter, Heartbeat, Ella Enchanted, Phantom Toll Booth, and all Diana Wynne Jones
Books are things very dear to my heart. There are many, and I can't name them all, that really shaped my as a child--I can honestly say I wouldn't be the same without them. So be careful, all you young-adult writers out there. You are shaping children in small, secret ways that they themselves do not at first notice.
#4: Clouds, trees, birds, and those little squirmy things in water
I believe it is important for every child to have adventures. Times when the house is just out of sight and parents long gone, when you are on Safari, and discoveries for the benefit of the little world that is your mind are found. When I was still living in California (3-7 years old), I used to imagine running away and living like Robin Hood--specifically like Robin Hood. Not because I was angry at my parents and that I did something wrong and didn't want to face the consequences; I just wanted to be on my own, just because I thought I could. I never did run away, of course. I knew I'd get lost, starve, be kidnapped, but that never deterred me from dreaming about it.
#5: Disney/Pixar
This is one I don't feel I have to explain, since this is part of everyone's life, but I wanted to pay homage to it all the same. I can't help but feel that if it weren't for Disney, all the classic Fairy tales would be lost in our culture forever. Disney, I think, was necessary for us when we were children. Kids need to believe in Right and Wrong, and that Right always comes out on top. They need to believe in doing the right thing because it's right. They need to believe that things turn out all right in the end, no matter how bad things get. Also, I think the world needs places like Disneyland/world/etc. Clean, safe, happy places where we can revisit our childhoods shamelessly.
#6: Cats, the musical
It's very easy to believe that I watched this show at least three times a day. And I did. It's also easy to believe that after watching it, I would turn it off and roam the house, pretending to be a cat. Even as a child, Memory made me cry. That show spurred my imagination and I fantasized nonstop about not only cats, but mystical places of mystery and stealth.
I had a great childhood!
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
13 Personality Types
1. The proclaimed Optimist: "The glass is half full."
2. The Real Optimist: "I think it's actually more than half way, and I'm sure I can fill up the rest."
3. The Proclaimed Pessimist: "The glass is half empty."
4. The Real Pessimist: "It's less than half full, and eventually it'll evaporate totally away and we'll all die of thirst."
5. The Proclaimed 'Realist': "It's both half full, and half empty."
6. The Real Realist: "It's not 'full' until I fill it, and it's not 'empty' until it's totally gone. It could go both ways."
7. The Scientist: "Fifty percent of the volume (LxWxH) of that cylinder is H2O, and the other fifty is 70% Nitrogen, about 20% oxygen, and 10% other various gases."
8. The Psychiatrist: "It's half empty because I never got a full glass as a child."
9. The Philosopher: "What is half full to some is half empty to others, but is that what really matters?"
10. The Dyslexic: "The empty is half glass."
11. The Paranoid: "Why do YOU care about how full/empty my glass is?"
12. The Stalker: "Her glass is half empty. Believe me, I know."
13. The Fence Sitter: "Um... isn't there a third option?"
2. The Real Optimist: "I think it's actually more than half way, and I'm sure I can fill up the rest."
3. The Proclaimed Pessimist: "The glass is half empty."
4. The Real Pessimist: "It's less than half full, and eventually it'll evaporate totally away and we'll all die of thirst."
5. The Proclaimed 'Realist': "It's both half full, and half empty."
6. The Real Realist: "It's not 'full' until I fill it, and it's not 'empty' until it's totally gone. It could go both ways."
7. The Scientist: "Fifty percent of the volume (LxWxH) of that cylinder is H2O, and the other fifty is 70% Nitrogen, about 20% oxygen, and 10% other various gases."
8. The Psychiatrist: "It's half empty because I never got a full glass as a child."
9. The Philosopher: "What is half full to some is half empty to others, but is that what really matters?"
10. The Dyslexic: "The empty is half glass."
11. The Paranoid: "Why do YOU care about how full/empty my glass is?"
12. The Stalker: "Her glass is half empty. Believe me, I know."
13. The Fence Sitter: "Um... isn't there a third option?"
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Once upon a land, in a time far, far away...
Why do humans tell stories? Sure, the historical ones are to understand why things are the way they are today politically and culturally and to help ensure that we don't make the same mistakes as our progenitors (though it doesn't always work out that way, does it?). But why novels? Why weave stories in galaxies far, far away and spin tales of adventure in far distant lands? Why make tell of something so detached from us that it can hardly relate to our own day-to-day occurrences?
Perhaps we want to escape. We think this life is boring. Daily routines and dull safety and surety make us naively long for some excitement. But what is life to be boring? Should we be entertained by our surroundings? Why not take a break from trying to find excitement elsewhere and create our own here? The world isn't entertaining enough for you? Try entertaining the world. Could that be why we create stories?
Or perhaps we like stories because they have problems that, more often than not, get resolved. The future to us worldly mortals is terrifyingly unsure. We are faced with conflicts and decisions and so many "other hands" to get on! We're afraid of looking back and realizing our choice was wrong. So then a story, all orderly written out, gives us assurance that things will turn out alright. Perhaps they give us hope that our own little climaxes will eventually resolve and we, too, can live live "happily ever after."
Then again, it might be the newness of a fleshly woven tale that captures us: new possibilities and never-before-thought thoughts. I believe we, as sapient beings, are alive in order to learn. It's possible we love stories because they offer the chance of a new experience, the opportunity to learn of an artificially experience in distant lands with unfamiliar cultures and ideas. Maybe if this life isn't teaching us enough, then we need some breath of fresh air to reawaken our yearnings to learn something new.
Maybe we write stories because we hope to teach others. We want to convey a truth with a fictional weaving, the "Moral or the story". Maybe we create characters who experience something or act in some way in extreme, vibrantly colored settings to make our point obvious in order to teach people: make them learn a lesson that is too monochromatic in this real life is for them to see it clearly.
Or maybe fictional stories are really shields we use to fend off the real world. We're so dissatisfied with--even afraid of--own problems or mistakes that we'd much rather listen or read of some one else's woes totally removed from our own. Or it could work the other way. Could stories be more like pillows than total shields, meant to soften the harsh realities of this all too real world? If we could just see a fictitious person handle a conflict successfully, we can then use the character as as our crash-test dummy and feel out the possibilities in how to confront a sort of problem and maybe save some face, too.
Which ever the reason certain people decide to compose a work of fiction and for whatever reason people decide to listen to them, I think stories are good and did not write this rhetoric to slam the classic tales (though maybe the writers and readers a little). This is merely my recorded train of thought. But whatever category you or I fall into, I want you, dear reader of aimless blogs, to know that I love stories. One of my own personal philosophies is that the entire world--nay, universe is made of stories, from the shortest of short stories, to the most eloquent of novels, to the utmost dull of tomes, to the most exciting of epics. I refuse to believe that we humans have imaginations for no eternal purpose.
For now, as far as I can tell, I read and write stories because they help me learn about myself and comprehend how I look at the world (I'm not yet totally sure) and how I think of other people. I think my characters are really only pieces of myself, cut and stretched into seemingly different people. I read and write stories because they are an escape, a little, and padding so I can safely experiment on Life's Great Unknown. They let my push the boundaries, both outward and inward. And yes, I write because it is fun. Nothing is funner--and yes, I said FUNNER--than taking a small, seemingly unimportant thought and spinning it into a full-fledged adventure on the spot. It's fun for me, and I hope it's fun for whoever my audience chances to be at the moment. Which is you. I hope you liked it.
Perhaps we want to escape. We think this life is boring. Daily routines and dull safety and surety make us naively long for some excitement. But what is life to be boring? Should we be entertained by our surroundings? Why not take a break from trying to find excitement elsewhere and create our own here? The world isn't entertaining enough for you? Try entertaining the world. Could that be why we create stories?
Or perhaps we like stories because they have problems that, more often than not, get resolved. The future to us worldly mortals is terrifyingly unsure. We are faced with conflicts and decisions and so many "other hands" to get on! We're afraid of looking back and realizing our choice was wrong. So then a story, all orderly written out, gives us assurance that things will turn out alright. Perhaps they give us hope that our own little climaxes will eventually resolve and we, too, can live live "happily ever after."
Then again, it might be the newness of a fleshly woven tale that captures us: new possibilities and never-before-thought thoughts. I believe we, as sapient beings, are alive in order to learn. It's possible we love stories because they offer the chance of a new experience, the opportunity to learn of an artificially experience in distant lands with unfamiliar cultures and ideas. Maybe if this life isn't teaching us enough, then we need some breath of fresh air to reawaken our yearnings to learn something new.
Maybe we write stories because we hope to teach others. We want to convey a truth with a fictional weaving, the "Moral or the story". Maybe we create characters who experience something or act in some way in extreme, vibrantly colored settings to make our point obvious in order to teach people: make them learn a lesson that is too monochromatic in this real life is for them to see it clearly.
Or maybe fictional stories are really shields we use to fend off the real world. We're so dissatisfied with--even afraid of--own problems or mistakes that we'd much rather listen or read of some one else's woes totally removed from our own. Or it could work the other way. Could stories be more like pillows than total shields, meant to soften the harsh realities of this all too real world? If we could just see a fictitious person handle a conflict successfully, we can then use the character as as our crash-test dummy and feel out the possibilities in how to confront a sort of problem and maybe save some face, too.
Which ever the reason certain people decide to compose a work of fiction and for whatever reason people decide to listen to them, I think stories are good and did not write this rhetoric to slam the classic tales (though maybe the writers and readers a little). This is merely my recorded train of thought. But whatever category you or I fall into, I want you, dear reader of aimless blogs, to know that I love stories. One of my own personal philosophies is that the entire world--nay, universe is made of stories, from the shortest of short stories, to the most eloquent of novels, to the utmost dull of tomes, to the most exciting of epics. I refuse to believe that we humans have imaginations for no eternal purpose.
For now, as far as I can tell, I read and write stories because they help me learn about myself and comprehend how I look at the world (I'm not yet totally sure) and how I think of other people. I think my characters are really only pieces of myself, cut and stretched into seemingly different people. I read and write stories because they are an escape, a little, and padding so I can safely experiment on Life's Great Unknown. They let my push the boundaries, both outward and inward. And yes, I write because it is fun. Nothing is funner--and yes, I said FUNNER--than taking a small, seemingly unimportant thought and spinning it into a full-fledged adventure on the spot. It's fun for me, and I hope it's fun for whoever my audience chances to be at the moment. Which is you. I hope you liked it.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Because I'm Different
Now, for some quotes you've probably heard me say once or several dozen times, and where it came from. And because I'm in a non-committal mood and feel like posting random things about myself, you have to suffer for it.
"FREE FOOD!"
From: Seminary class
The story:
Bro. Stucki: Why do you think people go to ward socials but not to church?
Me: To get free food.
Bro. Stucki: FREE FOOD!!!!
Amanda Rawlins: >sitting in Bro Brown's class, hears a distant yell< Did anyone else hear that?
"I don't need intelligence drugs, Tom, because I don't know what they are! But I will put anything in my mouth that's given to me, whether it's supposed to go there or not! Because I'm different. Just different. Is that clear with everybody?"
"I'm a knife...Knifin' around.... cutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcut..."
"Tell this woman that she's crazy! Just because I'm famous and sexy doesn't mean someone can go marry me the second I leave the room!"
"... ...What room?"
"I have a giant brain that can turn any complex machine into a simple, yes-or-no question."
"Ok, but that not the CD Bur--"
"Moltar! Yes!"
All From: Space Ghost, Coast to Coast
The Story: I don't think you want to know, but you can look it up on Youtube if you type in 'Knifing Around'.
"That's more high-tech than her blow-up pillow!"
"I don't need yellow pants to be cool!"
From: Pioneer Trek
The Story: 1) one girl had an inflatable pillow, another had a pillow that you could plug your iPod into.
2) A girl had a yellow slicker suit, complete with size 100 pants. I thought they were awesome, and she, well, you know.
"I may run on a high, but I never tell a lie: that's me in a nutshell."
"Well, it's very flattering being greeted with your latest model, but let me warn you that anyone who approaches carelessly is gonna die!"
From: Duo Maxwell, Gundam Wing
"You're gonna need ice cream in a second if you don't quit asking me that! Cuz, I'm gonna punch you, and... you'll need the ice cream... to stop the swelling..."
"What the sense-make?!"
"We're saved!"
"Thank Groodness!" (no spelling error)
"You gotta have the blue hair."
"Whoa! You look like a fox's mother!"
"If you mean I look like a 'foxy Mama,' that actually more offensive."
"Well, you'll be glad it didn't work out. I learned The Cheat's declawed, and I can be with someone who supports that kind of cruelty."
"This'll be a piece of cake! it'll be a piece of pie! It'll be a piece of cobbler! It'll be a piece of novelty dessert pizza! Now go out there and do your thing!"
From: homestarrunner.com. Check it out.
I feel better now.
"FREE FOOD!"
From: Seminary class
The story:
Bro. Stucki: Why do you think people go to ward socials but not to church?
Me: To get free food.
Bro. Stucki: FREE FOOD!!!!
Amanda Rawlins: >sitting in Bro Brown's class, hears a distant yell< Did anyone else hear that?
"I don't need intelligence drugs, Tom, because I don't know what they are! But I will put anything in my mouth that's given to me, whether it's supposed to go there or not! Because I'm different. Just different. Is that clear with everybody?"
"I'm a knife...Knifin' around.... cutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcut..."
"Tell this woman that she's crazy! Just because I'm famous and sexy doesn't mean someone can go marry me the second I leave the room!"
"... ...What room?"
"I have a giant brain that can turn any complex machine into a simple, yes-or-no question."
"Ok, but that not the CD Bur--"
"Moltar! Yes!"
All From: Space Ghost, Coast to Coast
The Story: I don't think you want to know, but you can look it up on Youtube if you type in 'Knifing Around'.
"That's more high-tech than her blow-up pillow!"
"I don't need yellow pants to be cool!"
From: Pioneer Trek
The Story: 1) one girl had an inflatable pillow, another had a pillow that you could plug your iPod into.
2) A girl had a yellow slicker suit, complete with size 100 pants. I thought they were awesome, and she, well, you know.
"I may run on a high, but I never tell a lie: that's me in a nutshell."
"Well, it's very flattering being greeted with your latest model, but let me warn you that anyone who approaches carelessly is gonna die!"
From: Duo Maxwell, Gundam Wing
"You're gonna need ice cream in a second if you don't quit asking me that! Cuz, I'm gonna punch you, and... you'll need the ice cream... to stop the swelling..."
"What the sense-make?!"
"We're saved!"
"Thank Groodness!" (no spelling error)
"You gotta have the blue hair."
"Whoa! You look like a fox's mother!"
"If you mean I look like a 'foxy Mama,' that actually more offensive."
"Well, you'll be glad it didn't work out. I learned The Cheat's declawed, and I can be with someone who supports that kind of cruelty."
"This'll be a piece of cake! it'll be a piece of pie! It'll be a piece of cobbler! It'll be a piece of novelty dessert pizza! Now go out there and do your thing!"
From: homestarrunner.com. Check it out.
I feel better now.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
And I Didn't Even Know It!
I've always been big into poetry, but my passion sort of fell by the wayside in Jr. High. Till recent, that is, when My English teacher forced us to write up stanzas on the spot. While I strongly am against throwing out one's emotions and insights to the general public (and this I'm posting on my blog... haha), it did re-awaken the joy I have in poetry. These are just a couple splurges I did in class or as a late night night assignment. I'm no Frost, but I hope you find them enjoyable or ast least mildly pleasant.
Cumulonimbus
Summer Trees blow in breeze
Make her think of High Seas
Unfurl sails, catch the gale
Over cloud and under sun
Lives a boy having too much fun
O Boy
O Boy, you found me out your gate
Kind Boy, you almost came too late
Glad Boy, your grace grants all I want
Sweet Boy, who repay I could not
O Boy, soon my goodbyes by said
O Girl, I spied you outside my Wall
Sad Girl, my love could cure you all
Lost Girl, would you leave me behind?
Dear Girl, in you I would confide:
My Girl, I don't want to be paid
And there are others but I don't have them with me, so there will have to be a second installment.
Cumulonimbus
Summer Trees blow in breeze
Make her think of High Seas
Unfurl sails, catch the gale
Over cloud and under sun
Lives a boy having too much fun
O Boy
O Boy, you found me out your gate
Kind Boy, you almost came too late
Glad Boy, your grace grants all I want
Sweet Boy, who repay I could not
O Boy, soon my goodbyes by said
O Girl, I spied you outside my Wall
Sad Girl, my love could cure you all
Lost Girl, would you leave me behind?
Dear Girl, in you I would confide:
My Girl, I don't want to be paid
And there are others but I don't have them with me, so there will have to be a second installment.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Then she was like, ''Nuh-uh," and I as was like...
You know all those jokes and books that say how much men don't know about women, how clueless they are about what to buy, what to say, and so on? How boys are always so confused about girls and can't make them out? Well, for all you guys out there who feel that way, here's a deep dark secret you'll never ever hear a girl admit to again: We're clueless about us too.
Sure, we act high and mighty; try to show everyone that we have flawless fashion sense, perfect timing, how graceful we are (most girls are laughing at themselves about that last one). While it's true we do have a knack for making things "pretty", when it comes to make up, most of us sort of make it up as we go. I personally think that's where it got its name.
Another thing: Clothes. There is no ONE style that's "in." What may be in for one taste, can be last month's "hott." Clothes are totally up to the girl; There is always a girl SOME where that can pull off any clothes item you could name. So what works for on girl may not be another's cup of tea.
Then there are the emotions. Some girls will deny it and try to act as stoic and cool like all their guy friends, but deep down, every girl is emotional, though usually for different reasons. And when girls seems to get mad at you and you don't know what you did, usually, you didn't do anything wrong. Eight times out of ten, the girl doesn't know either. When she bursts instantaneously into tears, and you want to know what's wrong. Then she says to leave her alone and she doesn't want to tell you. Half the time there is something seriously wrong that she isn't prepared to share, a quarter of the time it's classified as girl-only, and the rest of the time, she has no idea why she is crying and doesn't want to make a scene so give her a minute and she'll get over it.
Then there are the myths, mainly:
A)When she tells you to go away, she really wants to tell you all her problems.
WRONG!! When she says go away, she means it. She DOES want to tell someone, but obviously you aren't the one she wants to tell.
This brief guide is not fool-proof. Every girl is different. But a quick clue-in for the densest of you males: every girl is beautiful. But your girl is the most beautiful. If you haven't figured that out, you are in trouble.
Sure, we act high and mighty; try to show everyone that we have flawless fashion sense, perfect timing, how graceful we are (most girls are laughing at themselves about that last one). While it's true we do have a knack for making things "pretty", when it comes to make up, most of us sort of make it up as we go. I personally think that's where it got its name.
Another thing: Clothes. There is no ONE style that's "in." What may be in for one taste, can be last month's "hott." Clothes are totally up to the girl; There is always a girl SOME where that can pull off any clothes item you could name. So what works for on girl may not be another's cup of tea.
Then there are the emotions. Some girls will deny it and try to act as stoic and cool like all their guy friends, but deep down, every girl is emotional, though usually for different reasons. And when girls seems to get mad at you and you don't know what you did, usually, you didn't do anything wrong. Eight times out of ten, the girl doesn't know either. When she bursts instantaneously into tears, and you want to know what's wrong. Then she says to leave her alone and she doesn't want to tell you. Half the time there is something seriously wrong that she isn't prepared to share, a quarter of the time it's classified as girl-only, and the rest of the time, she has no idea why she is crying and doesn't want to make a scene so give her a minute and she'll get over it.
Then there are the myths, mainly:
A)When she tells you to go away, she really wants to tell you all her problems.
WRONG!! When she says go away, she means it. She DOES want to tell someone, but obviously you aren't the one she wants to tell.
This brief guide is not fool-proof. Every girl is different. But a quick clue-in for the densest of you males: every girl is beautiful. But your girl is the most beautiful. If you haven't figured that out, you are in trouble.
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