This is a post about food.
This is also a post of firsts. The first time I've just started writing without any real direction for my words (spoiler alert: I often write things in my head before I put them down on the screen so my previous two posts were, in fact, mostly planned. This is not. Well, mostly.) The first time, I, uh, got stuck writing within two paragraphs of beginning. You know, firsts.
This is a post that is slightly different in format to the first two writings on my blog. It's not really that hard to break a pattern when you haven't actually established one, but still. This isn't a post about a mediocre anecdote or my life reflections. Come to think of it, it probably will be both. Hence, it is different.
This is a post to be grateful. I just took a nap; how many people get to have one of those right when they want it? Not many. I got treated to dinner tonight by my wonderful grandparents, I sure was grateful for that. When I got home my other grandparent, who I live with, was sort of miffed that I didn't actually tell him where I was going this evening. How wonderful is it to have someone who cares about you when you come home slightly late? Pretty great. Once I settled that person's feelings I was able to go upstairs and lay on my bed for an hour and half, just thinking. I didn't have anything pressing to do, I had a very comfortable place to chill out, and no one bothered me at all. I fell asleep for a little while, and now I have woken up refreshed and ready to write on my blog. Outside I can hear water running and crickets and the wind blowing on this pleasant Utah evening. I have quite a lot to be grateful for.
This is also a post to complain. I ate too much at dinner so my stomach hurts. Sometimes I get annoyed that people are keeping tabs on my whereabouts like, all the time, and that they think I can't handle riding my bike outside late at night. I have lots of things to do but didn't want to do anything, so instead I laid on my bed for an hour and a half being totally unproductive. Now my throat is dry from sleeping and I've been living in Utah for two months where I can't get myself to drink enough water so my throat is always dry when I wake up and it's too hot to sleep and now I won't be able to go to sleep because I took a nap, so instead I'll have to stay up late being equally unproductive except maybe I'll write on my blog.
This is a post about perspectives.
This is a post about food again. I kind of have food issues. I love it; too much. So much that I literally could not name my favorite food. I like Chinese food and Indian food and Mexican and hamburgers and sushi and sometimes (like right now) I just really need a lemon meringue pie. So eating food isn't really an issue. Except--well, I'll get into that later. The issue comes when I eat too much of it (like right now) and when I don't get enough exercise to counter the effects of eating too much of it (like this whole summer). Every couple of weeks I decide that the latter is no longer going to be an issue; I'm going for a run this morning, gosh darn it, or maybe I should try that Bollywood dance workout DVD I got from Netflix (Hey I should do that tomorrow. No, but I didn't plan on showering tomorrow. Oh shut up, nowhere does it say that you have to shower every single day. I showered this morning. Sheesh.). You see my point? that's why it happens every couple of weeks, days even. It never actually works.
This is a post about one of the most ridiculous First World Problems ever to grace the first world: A fridge full of food and nothing to eat. I have issues feeding myself. No, I can eat just fine, and just because I spill water bottles sometimes doesn't mean I'm a slob. And I can cook too, that's not the problem either. Actually just the other week I made some Indian chicken biryani that I thought was fantastic; man with that and my Bollywood dancing I would make the perfect Indian bride. Except for the fact that I'm not Indian, I suppose. No, the above are not contributing factors to my inability to feed myself. The main factor is that I stand in front of the fridge and have nothing to eat. And then I come back five minutes later and for some reason the outlook is the same. I don't know what to eat, except that I do. Remember how I love food? Vegetables, lean meat, and whole grains are totally on that list of food I love to eat. I could eat organic, grass-fed, low-calorie food all day every day and be totally happy, except perhaps for those times I need a lemon meringue pie. No, seriously, that sounds so good right now. I don't even know where I'm going with this, really. I suppose it's just to complain some more. If I were to come up with some of my favorite meals (a problem in itself, as I've already mentioned, but not insurmountable), buy those basic ingredients, and put myself to work in the kitchen, then I'd be home free and never starve again. Hard work and good planning make Ellyn a... full girl? I just woke up.
This is a post intended to ramble a bit. Except, I'm not entirely sure what to ramble about. I think it's really cool how multi-faceted people are, and how they have so many things going on in their heads that you will never actually know about. That's called sondering, actually, what I just did. Blogger doesn't think that's a real word but I'm about to look it up. Update: I found it on The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows and I'm not entirely sure it's a real word anymore, but here's the definition of sonder: "The realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk." Beautiful, really.
For instance (oh, you thought this paragraph was going to start with "This is a post", didn't you? psych.), just a few weeks ago I found out that a friend of mine from the show (I'm in a show right now, didn't you know?) has the hobby of making marionettes with her family. Marionettes. Isn't that so freaking cool? It's so random! So obscure! So awesome! They do performances with them, too. I'm really quite impressed. I think it's really important to pursue your interests, because you never know when you might have a connection with someone about it. My whole life I've gone through phases of obsession, and as a result I actually have quite the collection of experiences in which I could hold an informed conversation: Bollywood, karate, China, superheroes, Anime/manga, fantasy books, classic books, math, history, dragonology (yep that's a thing), knitting, British TV, painting, popular movies, obscure movies, classical music, and K-Pop. Come to think of it, I think I'm actually a really interesting person. One of my issues, however, is that when I try to share things about myself with someone (usually in the hopes that they will in turn share something with me so that we might find something in common), it comes off as bragging. I am fully aware that the above sentence also sounds like bragging, but I promise, it is just as much of a problem to be good at lots of things as it is to not be good at anything. Besides, I don't believe anyone is good at nothing; we are each given our own talents, are we not? So that comparison is a little invalid.
This is a post to expose a few of my flaws. I'm kind of spoiled. I'm a little arrogant. I can be super bossy sometimes. Sometimes I really have trouble understanding why people can't just get over things. I'm not a fan of victims, meaning people who don't take responsibility for their own feelings and actions. I've been raised with a "get over it" and "do it anyway" philosophy, so I'm afraid I'm not very sympathetic sometimes. I'm also a little judgmental and not very nice in my head, although I usually end up regretting it. I also talk too fast, and I've gotten really good at switching over from Facebook to something professional-looking really fast when someone important comes up behind me at work. Wait I'm not sure that's a flaw.
This is a post of anticipation. Dude. I can't wait for college. I might have trouble feeding myself, and we'll see how I get along with my roommates, but I think it's really going to be awesome. I'm so excited for the classes I'm taking; yes, Hindi is one of them. I literally will get to watch Bollywood in class and make Indian food for extra credit. So stoked.
This is a post of confession: I'm not sure I really love Bollywood that much anymore. I think it has lost a little of its luster; instead of thinking "Oh my goodness I can't wait to watch another Bollywood movie" I end up thinking "Well, nothing to do tonight. Guess I better watch a Bollywood movie." And yet I am way excited to take Hindi and I have already scouted out like five different opportunities to go to India next spring. I suppose India itself hasn't lost its appeal. Maybe I should quit Bollywood while I'm having fun. And yet apparently the 46 movies I've seen haven't been enough; literally the last two times I've talked to someone about Bollywood, the movies they had seen were Lagaan and Taare Zameen Par. I have not seen those movies; sure I like Aamir Khan just fine but they've just been on my list for a while and haven't come to the top. Obviously that's what I should have done instead of sleep and write this evening. Man, I forgot where I was going with this again. I guess if watching Bollywood is starting to feel like a duty rather than a leisure then it's time to take a break. I'm not committing to anything, however. I really do like Bollywood. Part of the problem is that I can feel that I've talked about Bollywood too much. It's just that it's been at the forefront of my mind for a while now, so it comes into conversation without me meaning to bring it up. I suppose I feel like it makes me an interesting person, and it does. But if my friend mentioned her marionettes every other day I might not think they were that cool anymore, you know? I think I might be exaggerating a bit. Maybe the problem is that I mention Bollywood to so many different people that even though I do talk about it every other day, no one really minds because they're not getting the full front of my obsession, so I'm working myself up about nothing.
But you know what I just remembered? The first time I watched a real Bollywood movie was January 15 of this year. It has been seven months since then. It has been a fine seven months, I think. Perhaps it really is time to stop.
Still not committing to anything.
Well, this is a post that is going nowhere. It's kind of just been an opening into the workings of Ellyn's mind, like the cover of Shel Silverstein's A Light in the Attic. I went through a poetry phase, too, come to think of it. I really might be an interesting person. I've also just written 2,000 words about literally nothing, though. I'm not sure if that's a plus or a minus in my tally of Interesting Person Points.
Maybe I should take up falconry.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Conclusion: I should probably chill out.
I designed my wedding invitations today.
No, I'm not engaged. No, I don't have a boyfriend. No, I've never even been mildly close to having a boyfriend and I've never even been kissed (oops did I say that out loud no calm down you're only eighteen it's going to happen someday just maybe not soon oh no what if my first kiss is over the altar that would be so embarrassing). I just, you know, designed my wedding invitation and named my first child and all that. No big deal.
This isn't actually a new thing for me; after all, it is a truth universally acknowledged that a girl is going to plan her wedding long before she can legally drive. Or get married. It probably depends on the state.
I designed my first wedding dress in fourth grade. I kind of went through a dress-designing stage. Somebody gave me an awesome pack of mini colored pencils for my birthday, and I filled two whole legal pads with one dress design after another, each colored in to perfection and representing the height of fashion, at least in my nine-year-old mind. I still remember the white A-line dress with wide straps and strawberry-printed fabric. Man that would have been a cute dress. I had scruples that it wasn't modest because it didn't have sleeves; at this point I can't actually remember my justification for designing it anyway. Probably wearing a sweater over it, although come to think of it I'm not sure that type of layering was really in style for that season and my age. Ponchos were really more the thing. I counted 17 ponchos on the playground on the first day of fourth grade; the only way to top a poncho (mine was pink with a sparkly butterfly on the front) in the hierarchy of fashion was to wear a miniskirt over your jeans, even better if the miniskirt was also denim. If you had all three? Dang, girl, you is in style.
Somehow my sleeveless scruples were forgotten in designing my wedding dress. The only pretense at sleeves for this masterpiece were little petals of chiffon, designed to look like butterfly wings as they covered the shoulder (I guess it was a thing. What fourth grader doesn't love butterflies?). I wouldn't have known it was chiffon at the time, but I certainly knew exactly the kind of fabric I would have used for each portion of the dress, down to the dandelion-yellow matelassé for the bodice. Yeah, you heard that right. Vera Wang in the making, right there.
Wedding Dress 2.0 was a little more elegant: see-through lace covering the whole arm, shoulders and collarbone (see, sleeves! still modest.) with a sweetheart neckline of white satin coming down the body, the longest full skirt you can imagine, with the bottom coming out in a smooth train. This design came with a groom in mind: my fourth grade crush (and fifth. and sixth. and seventh.). I made the mistake of drawing us together and naming the man to the entire class, him included. We're still friends, actually; in his note to me in my yearbook he said that the day I drew a picture of us getting married he went home and talked to his mom about it and decided it was something he was cool with. He has a girlfriend now.
(An aside: the other day I walked in on my aunt watching Say Yes To The Dress. Soon enough my aunt comments: "I would kill my daughter if she ever wanted to wear a see-through wedding dress." Noted: 2.0 is officially out of the picture, as well as 1.2 which had see-through lace instead of the matelassé. Come to think of it I'm not her daughter, but I think I should still respect her opinion. Also, does anyone know how people actually get on that show? Is it as difficult as finding North Dakota?)
Version 3.0 was inspired by my love of wedge heels; I had the cutest black pair with little bows on the toe in seventh grade and decided that nothing else would do for my wedding except the same, but in white. If you're going to wear wedge heels on your wedding day you must, of course, show them off and your lovely calves to boot (a pun, because soon enough the design changed to white boots worthy of the go-go era) and hence, a knee-length wedding dress design was soon drawn up. Er, slightly below the knee. Knees really aren't that attractive. This one was also satin, but with actual short sleeves, a sweetheart neckline (it was a phase) and the fullest crinoline you can imagine. Again, I didn't know what a crinoline was at that point (still didn't know, actually, until like four months ago), but the principle was there and gosh darn it my wedding dress was going to have a big skirt with visible tulle. Still might, actually; Version 4.0 has yet to be imagined, although I may trade the white wedges for some pumps in the wedding color (coral, if I'm married in the spring or summer, and a rich aubergine if in the fall; either season will include roses in the appropriate color and a reception with an actual program so that I can dance with my dad like in What A Girl Wants, shut up that's a great movie). Color blocking is all the rage.
Hence, it was no strange thing for me to be daydreaming about my future wedding invitation. I've already got the party nearly planned; we've got to get people there somehow! So here's my idea, and guess what, someone else already thought of it.
You know that thing that tech-savvy and young couples do, where the wedding invitations look like a movie poster? It could be a totally made up movie, or they've edited the original to fit their own names, story, etc., or they have a series of posters that tell a story (ending with "Reception," of course, with Leonardo's silhouette). So, I'm totally taking all of the above ideas to make one brilliant, graphically-impressive fold-out wedding invitation that uses Comic Sans exactly zero times.
And it all started because my current crush kind of looks like the guy from Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. No, not Keanu Reeves. Hey, my mom met him in an elevator once. Keanu, I mean, not the other guy or my current crush.
So get this: we take a photo like the one on the cover of the DVD my family owns (both of them. We have two copies, it's that great of a movie), the one with the guys looking through the windows of the phone booth all confused. Then, we title it "_____ and Ellyn's Excellent Adventure." Get it? Like, getting married is an excellent adventure, right?! Shut up, it's a brilliant idea.
That would be the first image you see, and then it would fold out with a couple of other our favorite movies, some of the ones that we have watched together and cried over, like The Princess Bride. And we could totally dress up in different costumes and pose like the actors do in the poster, oh my goodness he would SO totally go for this I can't wait to tell him about it, I'm going to go ask him right now--
Oh. I forgot we aren't actually engaged. Or dating. Or even been on one date. Come to think of it, I don't even know if he's seen The Princess Bride. That might be an issue.
And it's all because (the dating part, not the movie) when I try to talk to him, or joke with him, or even look at him, I get all sorts of butterflies and I feel like a dork and I don't know what to say and I think "he must like that other girl", and then I want to sit next to him but then he like walks away and I stand there awkwardly, or I end up placing myself so that I can sit and look at him, but then I end up staring creepily and still don't know what to say. Then I try to be all flirty and bump shoulders with him or something but end up almost knocking him over.
I communicated some of this angst to my friend through text the other night. Her advice? "Stop staring, be chill. Let's come up with a strategy. I think first you must get him interested and then play it cool for a little bit so he gets all worried and nervous and then you marry him."
Brilliant. Couldn't have come up with better myself.
Earlier, she had said something along these lines: "Step up and do something! Put your flirtatious Ellyn to work, then invite him to hang out. You never have any problems asking people out!"
Okay, but here's the problem. Those times I never had problems asking people out? I didn't actually like those guys. No, not that I didn't like them, just that I didn't like like them. I was happy to go on a date and just hang out as friends, but I didn't get all butterfly-y and nervous and want to go sit in a corner but at the same time want to sit really close and link arms and go stargazing. See, here's my issue: when I actually like the guy, I can't joke, I can't flirt. If someone who knows him talks to me about it I get beyond embarrassed. Remember fourth-fifth-sixth-seventh grade crush who I was going to marry? It has taken me eight years to joke with him about it. Eight years.
So I have to tell myself to chill out. Chances are, I'm not even really going to have as big of a crush in two weeks. I didn't two weeks ago. We might not even see each other that much in the future; we'll be going to different colleges in the fall, I'm thinking about going abroad next spring, I'm thinking about a mission, he's thinking about a mission. I'm eighteen and one-third; if we were to start dating, then what? That dream wedding invitation is years out. Recently somebody asked me if I was going to attend the Singles Ward, and in my head I went, "Am I allowed to go the Singles Ward? I don't know. I think I am. I'm not sure I want to," so obviously I am not quite ready for wedding bells, or maybe even the dating scene. Beyond that: dude, I'm not in fourth grade anymore. It's probably time to stop getting embarrassed about a crush. I am in truth a rather practical person, and I can see the ridiculousness of writing an entire blog post about how I'm too nervous to talk to a boy. I am resolved; I will henceforth chill out.
But that doesn't stop the fact that inside I am super nervous about writing this all out and putting it on the internet. What if he reads this and knows I'm talking about him? I can feel anxiety rising at the very thought, there's no way I could look him in the eye. What if he reads this and thinks I'm talking about someone else? That would be even more embarrassing; he'd see me tomorrow and think that I have a huge crush on some other guy and not even try, fingers crossed he'd even try in the first place and that he in turn doesn't actually have a crush on some other girl. Oh my goodness, what if he reads this and knows I'm talking about him and decides I am way too dramatic and stays as far away from me as possible? I take it back; this isn't a huge crush, just a mild like because you've got a cute face and are really funny and fun to be around and I really want to be your best friend. ugh I'm such a teenage girl.
But I watched a Bollywood movie today and you know what somebody said? "Bad luck and a sharp mind, it's a dangerous combination, Priya."
Oh wait that wasn't it. Let me go rewatch part of the movie again.
And I can't even find the quote I was looking for. I'm not even sure if somebody actually said what I got out of the line, or if I just came to my own conclusion on what the message was: Communication. If nobody ever tells the other one their feelings, then for one we have a dramatic movie, and for two we have a lot of confusion and heartache and all that. In most movies and TV shows, if they would have just confessed their feelings earlier then everything would have turned out great. Except for Playful Kiss where she confessed her feelings in a letter at the very beginning of the show and he returned it to her with all of her mistakes corrected in red pen and a big F at the top. Oh wait, I'm not sure that was a good example because 16 episodes later everything does turn out all right in the end. Come to think of it I don't think I ever actually finished that show. In conclusion, I now stand by my decision to post my feelings on the internet.
I'm not sure that was the conclusion I should have come to.
Man, if this isn't a roundabout way to confess your like to someone, then I don't know what is. Has my life become a Korean soap opera? Or do I just watch too much Bollywood? Probably both.
oh my goodness what if he reads this what if he reads this CHILL OUT ELLYN
No, I'm not engaged. No, I don't have a boyfriend. No, I've never even been mildly close to having a boyfriend and I've never even been kissed (oops did I say that out loud no calm down you're only eighteen it's going to happen someday just maybe not soon oh no what if my first kiss is over the altar that would be so embarrassing). I just, you know, designed my wedding invitation and named my first child and all that. No big deal.
This isn't actually a new thing for me; after all, it is a truth universally acknowledged that a girl is going to plan her wedding long before she can legally drive. Or get married. It probably depends on the state.
I designed my first wedding dress in fourth grade. I kind of went through a dress-designing stage. Somebody gave me an awesome pack of mini colored pencils for my birthday, and I filled two whole legal pads with one dress design after another, each colored in to perfection and representing the height of fashion, at least in my nine-year-old mind. I still remember the white A-line dress with wide straps and strawberry-printed fabric. Man that would have been a cute dress. I had scruples that it wasn't modest because it didn't have sleeves; at this point I can't actually remember my justification for designing it anyway. Probably wearing a sweater over it, although come to think of it I'm not sure that type of layering was really in style for that season and my age. Ponchos were really more the thing. I counted 17 ponchos on the playground on the first day of fourth grade; the only way to top a poncho (mine was pink with a sparkly butterfly on the front) in the hierarchy of fashion was to wear a miniskirt over your jeans, even better if the miniskirt was also denim. If you had all three? Dang, girl, you is in style.
Somehow my sleeveless scruples were forgotten in designing my wedding dress. The only pretense at sleeves for this masterpiece were little petals of chiffon, designed to look like butterfly wings as they covered the shoulder (I guess it was a thing. What fourth grader doesn't love butterflies?). I wouldn't have known it was chiffon at the time, but I certainly knew exactly the kind of fabric I would have used for each portion of the dress, down to the dandelion-yellow matelassé for the bodice. Yeah, you heard that right. Vera Wang in the making, right there.
Wedding Dress 2.0 was a little more elegant: see-through lace covering the whole arm, shoulders and collarbone (see, sleeves! still modest.) with a sweetheart neckline of white satin coming down the body, the longest full skirt you can imagine, with the bottom coming out in a smooth train. This design came with a groom in mind: my fourth grade crush (and fifth. and sixth. and seventh.). I made the mistake of drawing us together and naming the man to the entire class, him included. We're still friends, actually; in his note to me in my yearbook he said that the day I drew a picture of us getting married he went home and talked to his mom about it and decided it was something he was cool with. He has a girlfriend now.
(An aside: the other day I walked in on my aunt watching Say Yes To The Dress. Soon enough my aunt comments: "I would kill my daughter if she ever wanted to wear a see-through wedding dress." Noted: 2.0 is officially out of the picture, as well as 1.2 which had see-through lace instead of the matelassé. Come to think of it I'm not her daughter, but I think I should still respect her opinion. Also, does anyone know how people actually get on that show? Is it as difficult as finding North Dakota?)
Version 3.0 was inspired by my love of wedge heels; I had the cutest black pair with little bows on the toe in seventh grade and decided that nothing else would do for my wedding except the same, but in white. If you're going to wear wedge heels on your wedding day you must, of course, show them off and your lovely calves to boot (a pun, because soon enough the design changed to white boots worthy of the go-go era) and hence, a knee-length wedding dress design was soon drawn up. Er, slightly below the knee. Knees really aren't that attractive. This one was also satin, but with actual short sleeves, a sweetheart neckline (it was a phase) and the fullest crinoline you can imagine. Again, I didn't know what a crinoline was at that point (still didn't know, actually, until like four months ago), but the principle was there and gosh darn it my wedding dress was going to have a big skirt with visible tulle. Still might, actually; Version 4.0 has yet to be imagined, although I may trade the white wedges for some pumps in the wedding color (coral, if I'm married in the spring or summer, and a rich aubergine if in the fall; either season will include roses in the appropriate color and a reception with an actual program so that I can dance with my dad like in What A Girl Wants, shut up that's a great movie). Color blocking is all the rage.
Hence, it was no strange thing for me to be daydreaming about my future wedding invitation. I've already got the party nearly planned; we've got to get people there somehow! So here's my idea, and guess what, someone else already thought of it.
You know that thing that tech-savvy and young couples do, where the wedding invitations look like a movie poster? It could be a totally made up movie, or they've edited the original to fit their own names, story, etc., or they have a series of posters that tell a story (ending with "Reception," of course, with Leonardo's silhouette). So, I'm totally taking all of the above ideas to make one brilliant, graphically-impressive fold-out wedding invitation that uses Comic Sans exactly zero times.
And it all started because my current crush kind of looks like the guy from Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. No, not Keanu Reeves. Hey, my mom met him in an elevator once. Keanu, I mean, not the other guy or my current crush.
So get this: we take a photo like the one on the cover of the DVD my family owns (both of them. We have two copies, it's that great of a movie), the one with the guys looking through the windows of the phone booth all confused. Then, we title it "_____ and Ellyn's Excellent Adventure." Get it? Like, getting married is an excellent adventure, right?! Shut up, it's a brilliant idea.
That would be the first image you see, and then it would fold out with a couple of other our favorite movies, some of the ones that we have watched together and cried over, like The Princess Bride. And we could totally dress up in different costumes and pose like the actors do in the poster, oh my goodness he would SO totally go for this I can't wait to tell him about it, I'm going to go ask him right now--
Oh. I forgot we aren't actually engaged. Or dating. Or even been on one date. Come to think of it, I don't even know if he's seen The Princess Bride. That might be an issue.
And it's all because (the dating part, not the movie) when I try to talk to him, or joke with him, or even look at him, I get all sorts of butterflies and I feel like a dork and I don't know what to say and I think "he must like that other girl", and then I want to sit next to him but then he like walks away and I stand there awkwardly, or I end up placing myself so that I can sit and look at him, but then I end up staring creepily and still don't know what to say. Then I try to be all flirty and bump shoulders with him or something but end up almost knocking him over.
I communicated some of this angst to my friend through text the other night. Her advice? "Stop staring, be chill. Let's come up with a strategy. I think first you must get him interested and then play it cool for a little bit so he gets all worried and nervous and then you marry him."
Brilliant. Couldn't have come up with better myself.
Earlier, she had said something along these lines: "Step up and do something! Put your flirtatious Ellyn to work, then invite him to hang out. You never have any problems asking people out!"
Okay, but here's the problem. Those times I never had problems asking people out? I didn't actually like those guys. No, not that I didn't like them, just that I didn't like like them. I was happy to go on a date and just hang out as friends, but I didn't get all butterfly-y and nervous and want to go sit in a corner but at the same time want to sit really close and link arms and go stargazing. See, here's my issue: when I actually like the guy, I can't joke, I can't flirt. If someone who knows him talks to me about it I get beyond embarrassed. Remember fourth-fifth-sixth-seventh grade crush who I was going to marry? It has taken me eight years to joke with him about it. Eight years.
So I have to tell myself to chill out. Chances are, I'm not even really going to have as big of a crush in two weeks. I didn't two weeks ago. We might not even see each other that much in the future; we'll be going to different colleges in the fall, I'm thinking about going abroad next spring, I'm thinking about a mission, he's thinking about a mission. I'm eighteen and one-third; if we were to start dating, then what? That dream wedding invitation is years out. Recently somebody asked me if I was going to attend the Singles Ward, and in my head I went, "Am I allowed to go the Singles Ward? I don't know. I think I am. I'm not sure I want to," so obviously I am not quite ready for wedding bells, or maybe even the dating scene. Beyond that: dude, I'm not in fourth grade anymore. It's probably time to stop getting embarrassed about a crush. I am in truth a rather practical person, and I can see the ridiculousness of writing an entire blog post about how I'm too nervous to talk to a boy. I am resolved; I will henceforth chill out.
But that doesn't stop the fact that inside I am super nervous about writing this all out and putting it on the internet. What if he reads this and knows I'm talking about him? I can feel anxiety rising at the very thought, there's no way I could look him in the eye. What if he reads this and thinks I'm talking about someone else? That would be even more embarrassing; he'd see me tomorrow and think that I have a huge crush on some other guy and not even try, fingers crossed he'd even try in the first place and that he in turn doesn't actually have a crush on some other girl. Oh my goodness, what if he reads this and knows I'm talking about him and decides I am way too dramatic and stays as far away from me as possible? I take it back; this isn't a huge crush, just a mild like because you've got a cute face and are really funny and fun to be around and I really want to be your best friend. ugh I'm such a teenage girl.
But I watched a Bollywood movie today and you know what somebody said? "Bad luck and a sharp mind, it's a dangerous combination, Priya."
Oh wait that wasn't it. Let me go rewatch part of the movie again.
And I can't even find the quote I was looking for. I'm not even sure if somebody actually said what I got out of the line, or if I just came to my own conclusion on what the message was: Communication. If nobody ever tells the other one their feelings, then for one we have a dramatic movie, and for two we have a lot of confusion and heartache and all that. In most movies and TV shows, if they would have just confessed their feelings earlier then everything would have turned out great. Except for Playful Kiss where she confessed her feelings in a letter at the very beginning of the show and he returned it to her with all of her mistakes corrected in red pen and a big F at the top. Oh wait, I'm not sure that was a good example because 16 episodes later everything does turn out all right in the end. Come to think of it I don't think I ever actually finished that show. In conclusion, I now stand by my decision to post my feelings on the internet.
I'm not sure that was the conclusion I should have come to.
Man, if this isn't a roundabout way to confess your like to someone, then I don't know what is. Has my life become a Korean soap opera? Or do I just watch too much Bollywood? Probably both.
oh my goodness what if he reads this what if he reads this CHILL OUT ELLYN
Friday, August 9, 2013
Conclusion: I should post on my blog.
It started at 4:00 on a Friday.
"Ellyn, the place is dead. You can go home early if you want," my coworker says. I'm not quite sure how to take this; has she noticed that I haven't actually been doing any work for the past hour, and wants me to go home so that I'm not getting dishonestly paid? Or is she being considerate and thinking I would rather be at home than doing nothing here at work? I appreciate both sentiments, I think. I decide to leave.
Now, a tangent on the UTA Bus System. I appreciate it; I really do. I have no vehicle of my own right now, and it is a convenient and fairly cheap method to get to work every day. The stops are convenient for both home and work, and in general the bus drivers are friendly (I won't go into the time I chatted happily with my sister for ten minutes until the bus driver stops at an intersection and says, "Miss, can you keep it down? I can hear your whole conversation. It's very distracting," or my subsequent embarrassment because I had been talking about the boy I like. No, I won't go into that.), so all in all it's an asset rather than a hindrance to my well-being and my bank.
But. It does not appear to excel at communication; between drivers, of routes, or towards the customers. Recently the stop nearest my work has moved several times; there is construction happening on that side of the street. This I understand: construction is annoying but we have to work around it. If the stop moves down the street, farther from my work, I will be slightly disgruntled but will walk the distance anyway because, hey, there's construction. If on one day the northbound and the southbound buses stop at the same place and the other day they stop 50 yards apart, I understand, although my level of disgruntlement will raise because I had to run like a fool to get to the bus. All this I understand, albeit disgruntledly.
Where my understanding lacks, however, is when the southbound bus stops at the northbound stop in the morning, and in the evening when I get off of work early and expect to be able to take a bus shortly after 4:00, the northbound bus drives right by the northbound stop I had been trotting towards and stops briefly at the southbound stop, the driver looking vaguely in my direction when I wave furiously but never stopping to answer my query of whether he was, in fact, a northbound or a southbound bus. See, that is what I don't understand.
Hence, we find Ellyn standing in the midst of construction and feeling more than a little disgruntled that she will now have to wait half an hour for the next bus: a northbound 832. Well, at least I'll get some time to think to myself.
Soon enough Guy I've Noticed On My Bus Before walks up. We briefly chat; I've seen him in the office where I work several times and we laugh about one of the deans. Silence, until the occasional person stops by and asks if this stop is northbound or southbound; North, we answer, At least we think it is. Aren't the buses frustrating this week? Good luck getting on the right one.
Halfway through my self-allotted wait time I think to myself: Am I unhappy about this situation? Am I discontent with my life and my choices? The answer I arrive at is No. I am a little annoyed, to be sure, and my knees are starting to hurt, but it could certainly be worse. It's not cold, it's not hot, and here's a chance to work on improving my posture. Oh, well now it's started to rain. Still not unhappy; sometimes it's nice to feel the rain for a little while. Such were my musings.
At least, until Guy I've Noticed On My Bus Before gets onto the 830 northbound bus and it drives away.
Now, I know that I do not ride the 830. I ride the 832. I am aware of the fact that the 830 and the 832 have similar routes and both eventually get to the Timpanogos Transit Center, my intended destination. I am aware that if I were to step onto the northbound 830 I would make it home as surely as if I were to step onto a northbound 832.
But I read the website, and the website says that the 830 is a special FrontRunner bus designed specifically for commuters, and has a higher fare. My student pass will not work on the 830, and I am not willing to pay for a fare when I've already paid for my pass; that thing cost money, yaar, and I aint spending any more. Hence, I will not step onto the 830 even though I know it will get me home.
But then why did Guy I've Noticed On My Bus Before ride it? He is clearly a student. I saw him swipe a card as he stepped onto the bus, but he must have some sort of special card or be willing to pay the difference. I resolve not to worry about it; I am safe in the knowledge that I read the website and that the northbound 832 will be coming in ten minutes anyway.
Soon enough, Guy In A Red Shirt walks up and asks if this is the northbound or the southbound stop. Northbound, I say with confidence. There's a knocked-over sign right there and a northbound bus just stopped here a few minutes ago. He trusts me and stays, exchanging brief small talk about the inconveniences of the bus system. I hear ya, bro.
We stand in companionable silence until another bus comes up; this one is a northbound 830. Hold on a minute, we just had one of those. Isn't it time for the 832 to come by? Red Shirt moves forward to enter the bus but it drives by and stops at the southbound stop; he is now disgruntled as he is forced to trot to get onto the bus, having been deceived by a girl standing at the northbound stop that the bus would indeed stop where it was supposed to. Sorry, I call as he jogs away. I'm not sorry. I'm disgruntled.
By the time 40 minutes since I have arrived at the bus stop have passed, I have decided that I am officially unhappy with the situation. The northbound 832 bus that was supposed to arrive around 4:30 is clearly not coming, it has begun to rain harder and colder, and I am getting the niggling feeling that I could have, in fact, followed Guy I've Noticed On My Bus Before's example and boarded the northbound 830 bus. I resolve then and there that if another northbound 830 bus stops by, I will step on board and ask if the bus will take my student pass.
Soon enough I am given the opportunity to test my resolve. I step on board.
"Do you take student passes?" I ask the driver.
"Swipe it and see," he shrugs. I do so. I get a green light.
It is 4:48, nearly fifty minutes after I missed my original northbound 832 bus. My level of disgruntlement has now reached its peak. I had started out happy: excited to get home early, eat dinner, and take my time getting ready for the show tonight. I ended up quite unhappy: I had stood in the rain forever, likely catching a cold, I had deceived my fellow UTA customers, and worst of all I could have been home half an hour earlier if I has just followed Guy I've Noticed On My Bus Before onto the first northbound 830, and would now have been sitting at home munching on nachos or leftover Indian food or whatever I could scrounge up for dinner.
At least, I thought as the bus pulled into the Timpanogos Transit Center, my internal narrative would make a pretty good first post for my blog.
"Ellyn, the place is dead. You can go home early if you want," my coworker says. I'm not quite sure how to take this; has she noticed that I haven't actually been doing any work for the past hour, and wants me to go home so that I'm not getting dishonestly paid? Or is she being considerate and thinking I would rather be at home than doing nothing here at work? I appreciate both sentiments, I think. I decide to leave.
Now, a tangent on the UTA Bus System. I appreciate it; I really do. I have no vehicle of my own right now, and it is a convenient and fairly cheap method to get to work every day. The stops are convenient for both home and work, and in general the bus drivers are friendly (I won't go into the time I chatted happily with my sister for ten minutes until the bus driver stops at an intersection and says, "Miss, can you keep it down? I can hear your whole conversation. It's very distracting," or my subsequent embarrassment because I had been talking about the boy I like. No, I won't go into that.), so all in all it's an asset rather than a hindrance to my well-being and my bank.
But. It does not appear to excel at communication; between drivers, of routes, or towards the customers. Recently the stop nearest my work has moved several times; there is construction happening on that side of the street. This I understand: construction is annoying but we have to work around it. If the stop moves down the street, farther from my work, I will be slightly disgruntled but will walk the distance anyway because, hey, there's construction. If on one day the northbound and the southbound buses stop at the same place and the other day they stop 50 yards apart, I understand, although my level of disgruntlement will raise because I had to run like a fool to get to the bus. All this I understand, albeit disgruntledly.
Where my understanding lacks, however, is when the southbound bus stops at the northbound stop in the morning, and in the evening when I get off of work early and expect to be able to take a bus shortly after 4:00, the northbound bus drives right by the northbound stop I had been trotting towards and stops briefly at the southbound stop, the driver looking vaguely in my direction when I wave furiously but never stopping to answer my query of whether he was, in fact, a northbound or a southbound bus. See, that is what I don't understand.
Hence, we find Ellyn standing in the midst of construction and feeling more than a little disgruntled that she will now have to wait half an hour for the next bus: a northbound 832. Well, at least I'll get some time to think to myself.
Soon enough Guy I've Noticed On My Bus Before walks up. We briefly chat; I've seen him in the office where I work several times and we laugh about one of the deans. Silence, until the occasional person stops by and asks if this stop is northbound or southbound; North, we answer, At least we think it is. Aren't the buses frustrating this week? Good luck getting on the right one.
Halfway through my self-allotted wait time I think to myself: Am I unhappy about this situation? Am I discontent with my life and my choices? The answer I arrive at is No. I am a little annoyed, to be sure, and my knees are starting to hurt, but it could certainly be worse. It's not cold, it's not hot, and here's a chance to work on improving my posture. Oh, well now it's started to rain. Still not unhappy; sometimes it's nice to feel the rain for a little while. Such were my musings.
At least, until Guy I've Noticed On My Bus Before gets onto the 830 northbound bus and it drives away.
Now, I know that I do not ride the 830. I ride the 832. I am aware of the fact that the 830 and the 832 have similar routes and both eventually get to the Timpanogos Transit Center, my intended destination. I am aware that if I were to step onto the northbound 830 I would make it home as surely as if I were to step onto a northbound 832.
But I read the website, and the website says that the 830 is a special FrontRunner bus designed specifically for commuters, and has a higher fare. My student pass will not work on the 830, and I am not willing to pay for a fare when I've already paid for my pass; that thing cost money, yaar, and I aint spending any more. Hence, I will not step onto the 830 even though I know it will get me home.
But then why did Guy I've Noticed On My Bus Before ride it? He is clearly a student. I saw him swipe a card as he stepped onto the bus, but he must have some sort of special card or be willing to pay the difference. I resolve not to worry about it; I am safe in the knowledge that I read the website and that the northbound 832 will be coming in ten minutes anyway.
Soon enough, Guy In A Red Shirt walks up and asks if this is the northbound or the southbound stop. Northbound, I say with confidence. There's a knocked-over sign right there and a northbound bus just stopped here a few minutes ago. He trusts me and stays, exchanging brief small talk about the inconveniences of the bus system. I hear ya, bro.
We stand in companionable silence until another bus comes up; this one is a northbound 830. Hold on a minute, we just had one of those. Isn't it time for the 832 to come by? Red Shirt moves forward to enter the bus but it drives by and stops at the southbound stop; he is now disgruntled as he is forced to trot to get onto the bus, having been deceived by a girl standing at the northbound stop that the bus would indeed stop where it was supposed to. Sorry, I call as he jogs away. I'm not sorry. I'm disgruntled.
By the time 40 minutes since I have arrived at the bus stop have passed, I have decided that I am officially unhappy with the situation. The northbound 832 bus that was supposed to arrive around 4:30 is clearly not coming, it has begun to rain harder and colder, and I am getting the niggling feeling that I could have, in fact, followed Guy I've Noticed On My Bus Before's example and boarded the northbound 830 bus. I resolve then and there that if another northbound 830 bus stops by, I will step on board and ask if the bus will take my student pass.
Soon enough I am given the opportunity to test my resolve. I step on board.
"Do you take student passes?" I ask the driver.
"Swipe it and see," he shrugs. I do so. I get a green light.
It is 4:48, nearly fifty minutes after I missed my original northbound 832 bus. My level of disgruntlement has now reached its peak. I had started out happy: excited to get home early, eat dinner, and take my time getting ready for the show tonight. I ended up quite unhappy: I had stood in the rain forever, likely catching a cold, I had deceived my fellow UTA customers, and worst of all I could have been home half an hour earlier if I has just followed Guy I've Noticed On My Bus Before onto the first northbound 830, and would now have been sitting at home munching on nachos or leftover Indian food or whatever I could scrounge up for dinner.
At least, I thought as the bus pulled into the Timpanogos Transit Center, my internal narrative would make a pretty good first post for my blog.
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