Wednesday Letters: Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

89 days.

89 days until Christmas.

I'm putting in my order a little early. I hope you don't mind. I promise to: 

*still be good

*try to be nicer

*have a better attitude at work

*not complain as much

*do all of my homework

*be happy

Here's what I'm asking for:

*a boyfriend (I know... I ask every year. But I just keep hoping that maybe you'll come through).

*10 lbs. magically to disappear, preferably from my butt and thigh region.

*nail polish that won't chip on my fingers. How in the heck does it stay for a MONTH on my feet, but it won't last two days on my fingers. This is a problem that needs to be addressed.

*a song written just for me. Maybe you don't have to deliver this. It could accompany gift option #1. Just sayin'. 

That's all. Not too tall of an order, right? Better than the Barbie mansion I asked for like 12 years ago (which you never brought... thankyouverymuch). 

With fondest regards,

Emery

Moving Week

I have good news and bad news...

Good news: I'm moving to a beautiful new apartment (BIG!!) with cheaper rent.

Bad news: I'm moving.

[source]

I loathe packing. I loathe loading up my car, driving two miles and unpacking the car. I hate reorganizing.

I do appreciate the de-junking process. I will be taking multiple trips to the local secondhand store with various donations.

But it also means between that, a full-time job and two graduate school courses, I'm running a little thin on time. So if I disappear again this week (like last week) just know that blogging had to come low on the priority list.

It happens. 

Always a Good Idea

Monday has arrived once again.

But this weekend was glorious. 

It started here:

S'mores with Reese's. Only way to do it.

 

Then came this. The sunrise. Beautiful.

Fall is in the air.

 Can you see the colors?

An essential stop.

  It's true... what happens at the cabin, stays there.

Lastly... this is in the bathroom at a McDonald's. Dead serious.

It's a flat screen TV turned to the news.

 That ain't no ghetto place.

How was your weekend?

Saturday Stories: The Texter

I'm not a big fan of texting.

It's really hard to say everything you mean in 160 characters.

(I have a difficult time with Twitter. I also refuse to use the shortened phrases like "k" or "OMG" or "c u soon". Yuck. Those tear at my tender English literature loving heart."

Still, I'm okay with sending a text to confirm plans or make plans or whatever. Sometimes you don't want to blab on the phone. I get it.

One day, my brother and his family were in town and invited me to dinner. I headed up to the mountains to their condo and patiently waited with my niece and nephews for my brother to arrive.

Out of the blue, J.J. (note: real name has been changed to protect the innocent) sends me a text. Sure, we knew each other from our singles ward. Maybe we had a few conversations. One of which was him telling me that there were no pretty girls in the ward. Oh-kay....

Anyways, he sends me a text:

What are you doing? - J.J.

My thoughts: What in the world? It's a Friday night. Does he need some information for church?

My text: I'm in Park City. What's up?

Park City? - J.J.

My thoughts: Didn't I just say that?

My text: Yeah. My brother is in town and I came up here for dinner. What do you need?

Oh cool. Well I'll let you go.

My thoughts: Say what????

My text: Okay. Have a good night.

Confused? Yeah... I was too. 

And then, I noticed that J.J. started to come around more often in social settings. At least sitting next to me. Although J.J. was nice (I was still bothered about his "pretty girls" assessment), there was no attraction on my part but seeing as how I get asked so few times, I tried to just be nice. And waited for him to ask me out.

It never happened.

And then we were put into separate wards.

And then I felt like it was okay to unfriend him from Facebook.

Running Away

There are times when you just have to run away for a bit.

Correction:
There are times when you I just have to run away for a bit.

Usually those times involve a boy. When my heart has been broken, once again, and I need to go back and pick up the pieces.

It's not his fault. Well, maybe a little. But maybe I shouldn't have gotten too excited or read too much into things. 

He had to move back to the office down south and I have yet to hear from him. It's been two weeks. In fact, he never told me when he was going to move, only that he was moving. 

And so we accept that perhaps, this latest experiment/kismet/whatever was only a cruel trick of someone's.

I found the perfect quote to describe the situation:

"I've never forgotten him. Dare I say I miss him? I do. I miss him. I still see him in my dreams. They are nightmares mostly, but nightmares tinged with love. Such is the strangeness of the human heart. I still cannot understand how he could abandon me so unceremoniously without any sort of goodbye, without looking back even once."

Yann Martel, Life of Pi

Maybe it's a bit dramatic. I mean, we only knew each other for a total of two months. But seeing someone every day for eight hours during two months? That's a lot of time. There were a lot of conversations. And now... 

There are moments when I want to call him and see if he'd go out with me again. But then I realize that it's probably for the best. He had his chance. And now he lives 45 minutes away. There's nothing that tells me he'd be willing to make the effort. And so I'm trying a different approach than what I've done: I'm going to just let go.

And run away with a few friends to mourn the broken, empty part of me. 

Jane Austen once said, "What are men compared to rocks and mountains?" Of course, I'm taking it out of context, but it's my sentiment. I'm running away to the mountains and the lake. To be away from TV for a night and a day. And breathe. 

Maybe then I won't miss him anymore.

And maybe... just maybe... I can find another good story. One that ends a little happier than this one.

A girl can hope, right?

Wednesday Letters: New Bed, Old Bed

Dear New Bed,

I'm so excited for you to be shipped and to arrive here in the next couple of weeks.

I feel so excited. I'm graduating to my own bed. A queen sized bed. And you are beautiful:

I've dreamed about you for years (seriously... years). 

Just wait to see how I dress you up.

Dear Old Bed,

You're a twin. 

You just don't make the cut anymore.

But we've had a good run. A really good run.

I'll miss you.

I don't think you'll miss me. Not with my whining and my tears that seemed to come every night.

I'll give you a good home. I promise.

Love,

Emery

Sunburns

Is it really Monday?

Of course it is.

And yes... my face is bright red. You can't see it because I don't have a picture of it, but trust me when I say my forehead and my nose are red.

I got a sunburn on Saturday.

My favorite thing that all day people have been asking me, "Did you get some sun this weekend?"

I've started to say no and ask them what they mean. It throws them for a loop.

But being at a football game meant that it's been practically a week since I posted.

I love game day though:

 

 

I also really love football.

But really, I'm trying to just figure out which way to go:

Yes... this was on someone's house and was discovered on a walk with my friend.

Any suggestions?

Wednesday Letters: To the Decision Makers

Dear Decision Makers,

Really?

REALLY?

You had to move him?

Things were just getting good. Just ask anyone. They were enjoying the awkward moments, the teasing, etc. 

And now you're breaking it up. Before it even started. 

My mom says that maybe this is how it's supposed to happen. 

I, on the other hand, am trying hard not to lift an angry fist to you right now. 

It seems that kismet only takes you so far. But you couldn't let me experiment just a little longer?

Cordially,

Emery

Saturday Stories: The Library

Once upon a time...

I was a volunteer in the library. 

As I was trying to decide whether or not I should go into my masters program, I thought that a great way to get experience was to volunteer for four hours on Saturday.

Plus, my social life was pretty non-existent.

[source]

I would straighten the books on the shelves, and organize the books that needed to be re-shelved so that the library pages didn't have to do it. It was agonizing but I figured that everyone has to start somewhere.

One day, as I was straightening stacks, someone started to make a noise like "tsk, tsk". I ignored it as there were a lot of homeless people who seemed to wander around the library. But the voice was persistent and then I realized that it was a man, trying to get my attention. 

He asked what I was doing and if I worked there.

I told him that I was working toward my degree and I was just a volunteer.

He then told me I was pretty.

I focused on straightening the stacks. (Because I'm awkward like that and the only men who have ever told me I'm pretty are the ones who were drunk and trying to grope me on the subway). 

He asked for my number.

I hesitated. How do I give a man I've never even met my number? I mean... I know HOW... but WHY would I do that?

I gave it to him. And prayed that he'd never call. 

He never did.

Shortly after that incident, I had to stop working at the library. My schedule wouldn't allow for volunteering anymore. 

If I'm honest, I kind of miss getting picked up in the library.